Said the Joker to the Thief
by Queen
Summary: There's too much confusion. Order 66 goes awry, and a group of clones find themselves wondering what to make of their future.
1. Said the Joker to the Thief

_Said the Joker to the Thief_

_"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,  
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief."_

'_All Along the Watchtower' – Bob Dylan_

_*  
_

* * *

There was the soft sound of a blaster being poised to fire.

Rex did not move, though the barrel was near enough to almost feel. The cold metal that would burn hot in a moment. It seemed to breathe on the back of his neck.

"You know better than to hesitate," he said.

* * *

It was a simple enough mission, and a successful one, as far as it could be.

Though it was a rumor, it was still enough to warrant investigation. The Republic could ill afford the establishment of a Separatist supply depot so close to their space. General Skywalker was on Coruscant. Responsibility fell to Commander Tano to investigate.

She took a small team. The rest of the 501st would be on its way to Coruscant to meet with the General. She would report back her findings. She took Rex as a matter of course. Echo and Fives, now veterans, were also selected. Four shinies, who showed some promise of leadership skills. A chance to prove themselves in the field, and to see the more experienced soldiers on a mission.

What they found was a puzzle; a deep gorge, surrounded by humid green jungle, partially under construction. It appeared to have been recently worked on, even more recently abandoned, and abandoned quickly.

They walked through the dark halls with trepidation, wondering if there were traps. They found none; only signs of a scramble to leave. Storage rooms that would have been cleared out were not properly emptied. A scattering of parts-stripped vulture droids and a pair of small transports rested silently on a landing platform beneath a wide outcropping of gray limestone.

"Why would they abandon a place they just started building? Discovery? What could have changed?" Ahsoka had asked.

"Don't know," Rex had replied. "Something's off. I've got a bad feeling about this."

Reporting back, they updated Admiral Yularen, who in turn sent a message on to Coruscant. They stayed two days, cataloguing what supplies were left, investigating the area on the chance someone had not fled the planet, and trying to recover the poorly erased files on the depot's computers. It gave them no answers as to why they had left. It was a home of ghosts.

They had brought their own transport from their landing site to the remains of the depot, and were preparing to depart when the order came.

Rex received it first.

He stood for a moment, uncertain. He straightened, hand tightening on the blaster at his hip. Commander Tano was slinging a heavy backpack over her shoulder, smiling and laughing at something one of the new men was saying.

The others received it second.

There was a pause across the landing bay, men stopping to listen. The Commander also stopped, her smile fading as she looked in puzzlement at her team, seemingly frozen where they stood.

There was the metallic rattle of a blaster being picked up, then another. She looked to Rex, eyes wide, inquiring.

His voice rang out as he began to move, slowly, too slowly. The words came thoughtlessly. "_Get down!_"

The whine of a blaster came; a sudden shot flew. The Commander, taken aback, was struck. She spun, fell. Datapads scattered around her, tossed out of the backpack.

"Ahsoka!"

Troopers converged on the body of the Commander. Rex knelt, turned her over. Her shoulder was scorched, a disturbingly meaty smell burned off her flesh. She twisted in pain, gasped, opened sky-colored eyes long enough to look up at the men crowding around her. One was worried. Two were uncertain, awkward, exchanging glances. Four held blasters aimed at her. Why? She winced, tried to reach for her lightsaber, then passed out as the too-charred flesh stretched and cracked.

"She's not dead, sir," a voice came. "Did you want to finish it?"

Nauseated, Rex staggered to his feet and abruptly punched the man in the face, ripping the blaster out of his hands as he tripped backward. Rex froze, panting, hands twisting around the cold durasteel in his hands, staring down at the shiny on the ground, who was looking up at him in shock.

It was long enough for the others to react.

Not obeying orders. The Jedi were traitors. Those who sided with them were traitors. Was a brother different? Doesn't make sense. What to do? No precedent. Traitors must be put down. Orders. Just orders. Orders were comfortable.

Three blasters were raised by inexperienced hands.

"Captain!"

Two veterans moved forward. It was short work. Quick moments, a strike, a twist, a pull, a punch. Fast blows to the head dropped their younger brothers to the ground.

Three men stood amid the fallen, staring at each other in disbelief.

Echo spoke first. "What do we do now, sir?" His voice was tinged with nerves.

They looked at the bodies scattered around them and began to feel fear.

"Lock them in one of the storage rooms. It won't hold them too long. They can take one of the Seps' ships." Rex's voice was, for the first time Echo and Fives had ever heard it, unsteady.

They obeyed orders.

* * *

"You know better than to hesitate," he said.

The blaster hovered. The voice was fearful. "It's the only way out of this," Fives said, hand steady but voice not. "Move, Captain. Please."

Rex's head turned, slowly, to the side, looking down the barrel of the blaster. He neither stood nor moved from his seat.

Commander Tano lay on the bed beside him. Only three things gave evidence she still lived. The quiet beeping of the medical readout beside her. The slight rise and fall of the white sheet pulled up over her chest. The three gauntleted fingers of the Captain that she clutched in her hand.

"You won't kill the Commander in cold blood."

He'd gotten them into this mess. _Ahsoka_. He struck a brother to the ground. So had they all, now. His voice turned bitter. "So now it's 'Commander Tano' again."

There was no motion in the moment -only a hardening of will.

Fives suddenly remembered why Rex was Captain. He didn't dare break eye contact. He did step backward, slightly away, resisting the urge to apologize. He didn't want to see her dead either. But what else could he do? There were _orders_. They might all die or be branded as traitors because of it. Where else could they go? What else could they do? They belonged with the Republic fleet. Home. Family. Brothers. Superiors had given _orders_. There had to be a reason. Too confusing. There had to be a reason. There was no disobedience. Someone had to save the three of them, if it wasn't too late already.

The impasse was broken by the sound of the medbay doors. Echo's voice came through. "I've set coordinates -" He stopped, then, uneasily, "Captain? Fives?"

"What do your regulation manuals say about what happens to traitors, Echo?" Fives asked, tensing, forcing himself to calm, then tensing again. His fingers flexed around the trigger.

Echo looked between them. Fives was battling panic. The Captain looked as though he would break him in half if given a moment of opportunity. The Commander lay still.

"What do the regs, say, Echo!" Five's voice cracked out into the silence.

"You know what they say," Echo began, unmoving. Too much. It was too much. This order was too much. Orders were meant to protect people. You follow orders, you still may not make it, but your chances go up. You follow orders, you follow regulations, you learn what you need to do, you do it. Regs are for safety. Orders are for protecting. Situation changes, you do the best you can, keep to the spirit of the mission.

He looked at the unconscious Commander. Orders were to keep you and yours alive. Why would this order have been given, and given to all? There had to be a reason. Regs made it black and white. Easy to follow, easy to understand, were absolutes. Could anyone be a friend one moment, and an enemy the next, as determined by a leader so far away? Was it right to follow an order that turned them on each other, when a moment before they were supposed to protect each other? Regs were made to protect lives. The order broke the spirit of the rules. Something was wrong.

"Commander's one of us, Fives." He edged forward, slowly, cautiously. Echo placed a hand on the blaster. He said, not unkindly, "Calm down. Something isn't right about all this. We've been in worse situations. We'll figure it out."

After a long moment, it lowered. Echo pulled it from Fives' grip. Rex let out a breath, eased back onto the stool he sat on. The Commander's breath hitched slightly, a flash of pain crossed her face, then stilled. The three men watched her, then looked away, clouded by a slight feeling of shame.

Echo held the blaster carefully against him. Fives turned, walked to a wall, pushed his back against it and slumped to the floor. "There's gotta be some way out of this," he said. He placed his head in his hands.

They lingered in silence. Rex broke it after a time. "Echo. What's our heading?"

"Coruscant. There's a beacon coming from the Jedi Temple, says to fall back there. I've set a course."

Rex nodded once, turned back to the Commander. "Get that blaster out of here."

"Yes, sir." He looked at it, grip tightening, then at Fives, who was looking at the floor.

There was only a quiet hum around them. The whirr of the engines, the soft beeping of Ahsoka's biosigns screen, the thick breathing of the three men. As Echo turned back towards the bridge, Fives could be heard saying, under his breath, "We are so fucked."

* * *

In the distance between the stars, an Empire began to rise.

The little ship was approaching Coruscant.

* * *

***

This fic is the result of listening to the _Battlestar Galactica_ soundtrack entirely too much lately, specifically _Gaeta's Lament_ and the _Galactica_ version of Bob Dylan's _All Along the Watchtower_. Quite a few of the lines are alluding to or lifting from these songs.

This will be a multi-part fic, based loosely around music from the Vietnam era, which I think suits the Clone Wars and its aftermath rather well. Updates will probably be intermittent, as I have no particular destination for this fic to go, and I'm still getting the hang of writing SW. ^_^

Of course, I own nothing, including the music.

~Queen


	2. This is Not Our Fate

_This is Not Our Fate_

"_But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,  
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."_

'_All Along the Watchtower' – Bob Dylan_

*

* * *

Her eyes opened. The world faded back in, though muted.

There was the sound of a medical readout chirping steadily beside her. There was the sound of Rex's breathing. He lifted his head to look at her. She shifted, the motion muffled by the heavy caking of bacta and gauze on her shoulder.

It was then that she felt the _absence_.

* * *

*

It went badly.

It always went badly, these days. War was a grindstone, lives were the wheat ground within it. A mill of murder. Men carried off in lumpy sacks for swift burial. Rex was too tired to let the anger burn up to the surface. He'd been angry before. Sometimes it was a good focus. It narrowed the world down into _us_ against _them_, _clones_ against _droids_, _friends_ against _enemies_, and it was okay to be angry at the enemy, so long as it didn't cloud judgment. Judgment had to be clear. Bad judgment fed the mouth of the mill still further.

He stood by a window, looking outward. Another ship limped along off the starboard prow of the _Resolute_. She held together, but streams of smoke were still trickling off into space. Teams would be working to make repairs, keep the old girl afloat.

Insertion had been ugly. Fighting had been fierce. Extraction had taken too high a toll. Superiors were calling it a victory.

Victory? He snorted. Over what?

Terrified civilians running from machines as well as men.

Names sifted through his mind, committing themselves to memory. There was no one off-ship to tell about their deaths. No one back home. No _home_. No home other than Kamino. He'd seek out friends onboard and deliver condolences. News of the deaths would not take long to reach their living brothers. They would mourn, and move on.

It was the way of things. There was no time to grieve on the field. Men could get used to anything, given enough time. Even constant death.

A quiet noise was made behind him, a small shuffle of the feet that would alert him to another presence, avoid startling him.

Ahsoka stepped up beside him. He waited for her to try to cheer him up, but she did not. He waited, and realized she was not there to give encouragement. He returned his gaze to the black. They stood quietly for several minutes. He found himself beginning to calm.

"I can talk to the men, if you like," she said after a time. "You don't always have to do it yourself."

"I'm their Captain."

"I'm their Commander."

He looked at her sideways. "I'm their brother."

She met his eyes, eventually gave a small nod. He looked away. She added, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, "It _will_ end someday, Rex. Nothing lasts forever." She looked at the battered starship across from them. "Not even this war."

She mourned them too. It was his responsibility, his duty, but she mourned them too. It was, strangely, a relief. She was one of them, a soldier on the front lines. She was also not one of them, and did not have to care. It was not quite like being an ordinary conscript, with a family and friends back on a homeworld. People waiting, people hoping, people praying for his safety. A rush of gratitude flooded him, and some odd sense of relief. It was unwise, for her to get too attached to him. Still, he did not want to be forgotten, or be left unmourned. So long as she outlived him, he would not be. A small way of continuing on.

He was tired. He sagged a little. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. "Are you alright? You should rest."

"So should you."

She stepped closer, hand sliding to his back and arm slipping under his as though to hold him up. "Rex, if you're hurt and didn't go to the medbay…" her words trailed off warningly. Concern remained, but the gentle tone switched to a scolding one.

He gave a single, short laugh. "I'm just tired. Need to get to my rack is all. It is not my fate to die from lack of sleep." He mustered a smile.

She looked at him, skeptically, then her expression changed, the dark stripes of her montrals deepening in color as she blinked hard. His smile faded. Her gaze dipped once, then twice, down to his mouth. She looked away, eyes lowered. His breath pushed against the side of her neck. It prickled, the line of her throat curving upward to meet her montrals, curved downward to meet her shoulder, her collarbones.

She would mourn him if he died. There was a sudden ache in his chest, an absence that he knew could not be filled. He had thousands of brothers, but it was Ahsoka who kept him from being alone, it was him who she sought out. They had been through too much together.

Captain, Commander. Sometimes rank rang false. Her cool skin was too close. He stopped breathing.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. "Can you walk?"

His voice was no steadier. "Yes."

"Get some rest," she said softly as she slipped away.

* * *

*

It was then that she felt the _absence_.

It was a knowledge of something _not-there_. It loomed large, blotting out everything else with its lacking, a night that suddenly had no stars to fill it. A sense of overwhelming loss gaped outward. She reached, trying to find what was gone. Her senses found only more of the _nothing_, of the _absence_.

She had felt it before. Men cut down on the field, lives scattered like chaff. Empty places that had once been filled. These, though, were those who shone differently. Jedi. She felt as though drowning, and clawed outward for some indication of life, of others like herself, of bonds and friendships she'd formed through the years.

She found one. It was not the oldest, but it was the strongest. _Master_. She ignored the strange decay of it, like tarnish biting into silver. The frayed edges she could not see, but feel with her mind. It existed where so many others did not. She followed, chasing down the man she relied on so much for the last three years. _Teacher, friend, hero, almost-brother_.

She found a dead star. Where others were lights passed out of existence, this one was dead, a black hole, a well of gravity that pulled everything into it, _people, things, time, light_. It exuded _pain, rage, loss, despair_.

Harsh breathing echoed in her mind. She thought at first it was her own, laboring to escape the pull. It was too heavy to be hers. It called without words.

She hesitated. It pulled her. The black star was beautiful in its devastation. Nothing stood before it. Silent, it consumed.

She understood it for what it was. She resisted, reaching out again. Not for this bond. _Corrupt, wrong, twisted, dark_. She rejected it, groped for another. A second bond brushed past her mind's filament-like fingers. She seized it, pulled herself forward.

Then there was harsh light in her eyes, and someone shouting her name, and a burning was in her shoulder.

It coalesced into reality. A too-familiar face was hovering beside hers. She tried to force air back into her lungs, to remember to breathe. She was grappling one-armed with armor. White armor. White armor was friendly. White armor with guns raised, pointed at her. She recoiled.

Rex was saying, over and over, "_Ahsoka_." Her face was in his hands, holding her still. She focused on his face. The sudden urge to fight eased. Rex was _safe_. Rex was _a friend_. Rex was _strong, good, kind, warm_.

Her voice cracked when she spoke. "They're all gone."

His voice was no steadier. "Yes."

She clutched his hand. Not everyone.

* * *

*

Fives watched the light of hyperspace stream by. He sat in the co-pilot's chair, a frown on his face. "Echo," he said.

"Yeah?"

"The Supreme Chancellor is the only one who can give that order, isn't he?"

His brother looked at him for a long moment.

The Supreme Chancellor lived on Coruscant.

Whatever else was going on, they were running hot with a Jedi on board. The Commander was too injured to be much good in a fight. They could be flying into anything. Echo's face went white, and he turned swiftly to the navigational computer.

Coruscant would be ground zero if a battle was going on.

Their course changed.

* * *

*

There's enough Ahsoka deathfic in the world, so she gets to live in stuff I write. Besides, the potential she's got as a character too much to toss away by killing her.

I do like the Rex/Ahsoka pairing, so there will be some of it tangled through this, but it's not going to be a major focus. This really is a fic about all four of them, so expect to see more of Echo and Fives as the story progresses. I don't usually write without a solid plan, but this story is trickling into my head in bursts as I find music that fits each chapter. So we'll see how this goes. There will definitely be _at least _ half a dozen chapters. Beyond that, I can't really say.

As always,

~Queen


	3. Would Never Forgive What You Do

_Would Never Forgive What You Do_

_You fasten the triggers  
For the others to fire  
Then you set back and watch  
When the death count gets higher  
You hide in your mansion  
As young people's blood  
Flows out of their bodies  
And is buried in the mud_

'_Masters of War'- Bob Dylan_

_

* * *

_

She did not expect to go inside with Anakin.

The previous times they'd gone to see the Chancellor, she had been turned away at the door by a disinterested Palpatine. The Supreme Chancellor of the Republic had no time for Padawans.

He did not greet them at the door this time, and as Anakin stepped inside, he looked back at her, tilted his head, and made a small gesture of welcome. She brightened. She was to be included, with the leader of the Republic.

The Chancellor stepped from behind his desk, a look of mild disapproval swiftly hidden.

* * *

Echo could not see.

Rather, all he could see was the frantic flipping static within his helmet. The HUD was having a serious error. He shut his eyes tightly to block it out, moved to sit up and remove the offending piece of armor.

Movement was a bad idea. Pain lanced through both his leg and head, and he yelped loudly, eyes shooting open to take in the wild spinning going on across his vision. It made him dizzy. He reeled, flat on his back again, this time aware he was oozing blood from the leg, as well as increasingly nauseous from a headache and a hyperactive helmet. He groaned. Everything hurt.

He was yanked upward, and someone tugged the helmet off his head for him. Sudden brightness from the cloudless sky pierced his eyes. His head throbbed. He twisted to the side and puked.

A minute later he managed to pry his eyes open again, without the light making him too completely photosensitive. He squinted at the legs in front of him, then upward.

_Shit_. Blue stripes on white. He'd just thrown up on the Captain.

"Sorry, sir," he said, but it came out mostly as an undistinguishable groan. Everything tilted again and he flailed outward to keep himself sitting upright.

"I've called a medic," Rex said, punching the HUD's reset button. "Looks like you hit your head when you went down. That's quite a lump." He glanced up, turned, and waved as a pair of soldiers, a repulsor gurney hovering between them, made their way over.

Echo felt too sick for much relief when the Captain didn't mention the former contents of his stomach. A lump. That would explain the headache. Probably went down when his leg got hit.

"Ready?" Rex asked, kneeling down and propping himself against Echo for support. Other hands arrived to help, and he found himself being lifted and then deposited onto the gurney. Blue sky skidded across his vision. Grey smoke moved thinly between the towering scrapers above. He lolled his head to the side, looked out sideways across the remains of the battlefield.

It went badly. His head was clear enough through the foggy pain to remember that much. Civilians had been trying to escape the machine army coming up behind them. They'd run straight into the new combat zone, LAAT gunships dropping men down and then swooping back away for another load. There had been nowhere else for them to turn. He remembered his squad trying to usher a group behind the lines before things went dark.

Bodies in civilian clothing lay scattered amid the white clone armor and broken bits of droid. Red blood ran into the mud, catching in puddles with machine oil. The scarlet pools shimmered gold on the surface from the grease. He heard the sound of whatever passed for carrion eaters on this planet calling to each other, punctuated by the occasional shout of a clone trooper chasing them off. His stomach began to churn again.

He turned his head back to the sky. It was cerulean, serene. He ignored the winged carrion eaters.

"Captain?" he asked as his stretcher turned to take him to whatever location had been turned into a field hospital. "Did we win? Did we get them?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we got them." Rex said, voice quiet. "We got them good."

Echo kept his eyes on the sky, telling himself to be glad, and tried to ignore the feeling that _it didn't matter_.

* * *

The Chancellor stepped from behind his desk, a look of mild disapproval swiftly hidden.

"Welcome my dear boy," he said to Anakin. "Padawan Tano." He inclined his head politely, if not warmly, to Ahsoka. "Your Master speaks well of you."

"Thank you, Chancellor." Ahsoka scolded herself lightly, reminding herself to not smile too much, not to show how pleased she was at her inclusion in their little group. She was a Jedi, she must be calm. She folded her hands at the small of her back, keeping herself straight, hoping she appeared sufficiently thoughtful and serious. She sent a glance up at Anakin. He shot a quick, reassuring smile at her, then turned to the Chancellor.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me your thoughts on the progression of the war. I've become concerned at the lack of progress we have been making recently." A thin white hand gestured; long, slender fingers waving slightly in the air. They folded, clasped.

Ahsoka listened. She listened, and she watched, and she interjected small additions when there was a pause in the flow of the conversation. It was casual almost, far less rigid a debriefing than she was accustomed to when standing before Jedi Masters. The Chancellor asked pointed questions, always with a rather grandfatherly mien, thoughtful if somewhat inattentive to her presence. His eyes were very sharp. Ahsoka dismissed the lack of attention. She reminded herself of who she was talking to, and bit her tongue. The times she did speak up, Anakin continued to look pleased, and the Chancellor seemed to be content in tolerating her presence.

The sky darkened outside. Lights near the window gleamed upward as a warm hued sunset began to streak the sky. The city beyond the Senate building began to glow in the oncoming dark, as though stealing the setting sun's brightness.

The Chancellor was saying, "If one of these systems falls to the Separatists, the others will follow. We will need to invade the planet. Others, if necessary." The white hands flickered, spiderlike, before returning to their more serene position, waiting, clasped.

"Another invasion?" Ahsoka blurted, suddenly alarmed. The two men turned to look at her. Anakin looked surprised for a moment, then slipped into an expectant expression. He recognized the look of his Padawan, unhappy about something and preparing to argue. He resisted a smile; this argument was not with him.

The Chancellor said, mildly, "You would prefer to let systems join the Separatist cause?"

"Well no, of course not," Ahsoka said, backtracking quickly. Of course it would be bad if more worlds left the Republic. She'd seen too much of what the Separatists could do, what devastation they left on the planets they battled on. Separatists and their ideals were dangerous. The Chancellor was shifting, turning to look at Anakin again. She added, swiftly, "But an invasion? Some of our highest casualties were on Geonosis." She remembered the massive battle, of running into heavy fire, of men falling around her, of the appalling death count at the end, of being nearly buried in a mountain of rubble to end it all. She could feel the mourning through the ship, echoing through the Force heavily, feel the knowledge of absent comrades. She suppressed a shiver at the memory. "Our forces are strung out across the galaxy. We'd need to increase troop strength in the region for that level of fighting. I'm all for ending the war, but with troops as widespread as they are, we won't have enough manpower to root the Seps out. It'll be a bloodbath!"

A small flick, and the long white fingers of the Chancellor moved. A tiny frown of disapproval formed. "It must be done, my child. The Republic must be maintained. It may be difficult, but it is how we will keep our galaxy safe. We must use what weapons are at hand, and whatever means are necessary to protect our way of life. It would be barbaric to simply pound down the cities, don't you agree?" He finished with a gentle smile, as though a patient teacher concluding a lesson with an impertinent youngling.

Ahsoka tried to scold herself into calm again. The Chancellor had led them through difficult times. He was responsible for keeping the Republic together, keeping them all safe. His plan sounded so _reasonable_. But _weapons at hand_? She grew stubborn. Her jaw set, and her posture stiffened.

She heard Anakin chuckle lightly.

"The men on the field…the clones. They're people, not weapons." _They're not disposable_, she wanted to say, warming to her argument, but aware that she was terribly outclassed by the man who she was challenging. Still, it did not _feel_ wrong. How could it _feel_ wrong to care about people? They were people, not tools. Not weapons. They felt loss. She _felt_ their loss. And it was not only the clones, who he so carelessly deemed weapons. There were even more civilians at stake. Even those not directly caught up in the fighting suffered through the disruptions of trade blockades, ruined fields, cities and governments. "Do all of their deaths really make it worth it?" Couldn't there be some other way? Some better way?

She did not like the Chancellor's next words, nor his amused tone, "And what would you suggest, my dear? Allow the Republic to fall apart? You must learn to do what is necessary, my dear child." He was smiling, his eyes still sharp and his hands curling around each other languidly.

Ahsoka suddenly resented the man. She had fought in this war for nearly three years. She'd fought and bled next to the clones, same as anyone else on the lines. _Learn to do what was necessary?_ She'd killed and destroyed and watched others kill and destroy. She was not his dear anything, and he was dismissing her concerns for living beings as though they were a trifle, a gadfly easily swatted aside. Was it worth it? Were all the lives really worth winning this fruitless war? He sat here in the safe heart of the Republic, here in his rich office, hearing reports but not watching the men die, not fearing for their safety, not dreading the losses of friends in arms. _He is wrong_, she thought. _He is wrong and he does not care_. _He is wrong _because_ he does not care_. _He uses the clones because they are expedient to his purpose, and he is the one who leads us_. _Who is to say he thinks of anyone differently? To such a man, anyone is a means to an end. _

There was a slight shift around them then. Ahsoka was only vaguely aware of it, distracted as she was by her growing distaste. The Chancellor's amusement was shuttered, and a certain coolness settled around them as she shifted into active dislike of the leader of the Republic. She fought to keep outwardly calm.

To herself she thought, _It is a good thing this man is not a Jedi_.

* * *

_(How much do I know  
To talk out of turn  
You might say that I'm young  
You might say I'm unlearned  
But there's one thing I know  
Though I'm younger than you  
Even Jesus would never  
Forgive what you do)_

There were other days Palpatine met with Anakin.

"Your Padawan is a very clever young lady," he said, paternally. "She seems very capable for one so young."

Anakin smiled. "Well, she is my Padawan," he replied, puffing up a bit with pride. "Ahsoka's pretty advanced."

"Will she be taking the Jedi Trials soon?"

Anakin looked thoughtful. "Maybe in a year or so. She's had more experience than most her age. Why?"

Palpatine steepled his fingers and rested his chin on his fingertips lightly. "We are so short-handed. Perhaps, if you think it wise of course, she should be given some further responsibilities?"

"Further responsibilities? You mean missions? On her own?"

"Only if you think she is up to the task," he waved a hand slightly and sighed. "As she said herself, we are stretched so very thin, and if, as you say, she is advanced. She could be of very great service. You've done a wonderful job with her."

"Thanks," Anakin said, considering. "I'll think about it."

Palpatine looked pleased.

* * *

The accompanying song for this chapter, Bob Dylan's '_Masters of War_', seemed to be screaming for a chapter about Palpatine. Hopefully he comes across okay, and appropriately in character. I also didn't want Ahsoka to just _sense_ something off with Palpatine – clearly if the Jedi Masters can't, she shouldn't be able to. But I did want her to _understand_ what he's doing is wrong. So hopefully that also came through clearly. The ends do not justify the means. (Especially if you're an evil Sith lord bent on galaxy-wide conquest, ha!)

Also, this fic is not completely linear. ^_^ The conversation with Palpatine took place a couple months before the rest of the chapter and Order 66. We'll be back to post-Order 66 with the next chapter.

~Queen


	4. Will Be Later to Win

_Will Be Later to Win_

_For the loser now  
Will be later to win  
For the times they are a-changin'._

'_The Times They Are A-Changin'' – Bob Dylan_

_

* * *

_

They sat in the mess, three identical men in a huddle.

At their arrival, there was too much panic for them to be paid much attention. As things calmed slightly, they were given fearful looks. It was not the first time; they were soldiers, they were used to looks of fear. Fear of what they could do, fear of what they brought with them. As time progressed even further, they received looks of what they realized was shock, then something akin to awe.

They were clones who had _disobeyed_. No one had heard of such a thing. And the order they had disobeyed had changed the galaxy.

Prying eyes would dart towards them, mouths would gossip. They didn't know where to go, or what to do. It was unnerving. They were used to existing in a sea of anonymity and sameness.

The mess was safe. They occupied themselves with food and their familiar faces, turning their backs to onlookers.

A chair scraped outward, and Ahsoka plopped herself down. They looked up, startled at the sudden company. She laced her fingers together, set them on the table and announced, "I have a proposition for you guys."

* * *

Two babies lay in a cradle.

One was asleep. The other was looking straight upward, arms and legs flailing, trying to kick off the soft blanket, and succeeding only in entangling the fluffy pinkness more tightly around her. Round cheeks began to puff up and redden.

"Shh, shh," Ahsoka said, leaning down and untangling the little girl. She stopped squirming, blinked and made a puckering motion with her lips, as though startled at the sudden absence of the annoyance. Her brown eyes closed as she burbled happily. Chubby arms reached outward, hands flailing.

Ahsoka looked around. A droid-nurse was busy nearby, though didn't seem to be paying attention. There was no rule she had heard that she was not allowed to touch them. She reached out. "You want up?" she asked.

Leia squealed happily, and Ahsoka smiled, carefully scooping her out of the crib and holding her cautiously. She bit her lip as Leia, with very little motor control yet, promptly banged her head into Ahsoka's injured shoulder as she settled. It was still stiff from healing. Leia was squirming happily, no longer trapped into either bed or blanket. A plump hand repeatedly smacked the nearest lekku.

She looked down at the baby. So much was resting on these two children. Leia was dark eyed and dark haired, tufts blooming around her head like a wispy chocolate halo. "Hi there," Ahsoka said, and Leia stopped her squirming for a moment to look up and blink. "I guess, from a certain point of view, I'm your Aunt Ahsoka, huh?"

Leia made another happy noise and an attempt to grab Ahsoka's nose.

"So you're what happens because of attachment," she said, lifting her nose out of reach. Leia frowned and waved a hand furiously. Ahsoka laughed a little, and offered her a finger instead. Newborn, chubby fingers batted at it for a moment, then grasped, curling firmly around. Ahsoka smiled down at her.

It was hard to be angry about the babies. She could only pity Padme. She did not know what to think of Anakin. Her feelings were too conflicted. She thought she would have supported him, even covered for him, had she known, wrong as it was. Why hadn't he trusted her? She would have sympathized, at the very least. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to feel that falling in love was such a terrible thing. She did not really understand how this could have happened. Master Skywalker had always been a little wild, a little too eager for action, even a little too protective. But those were understandable faults. How had they combined to create this disaster? What Master Kenobi had reported to her, ashen faced, was horrific beyond reason. It was impossible to reconcile the man she knew with the catastrophe he had brought about. The deaths. The betrayal. The destruction. She took a shuddering breath, refusing to give in to tears again. Later. Not now. Later.

She feared for the future. The Emperor had already shown his colors with the synchronized murders of the Jedi. There was only the question of how long it would take for the rest of the galaxy to recognize this.

_Palpatine_. Emperor. _Sith_. The name was a hiss in her mind. She knew who was to blame. A means to an end. _This_ end. He cared for no one and nothing but his own power. He had no _compassion_, no _kindness_, no _attachment_ to anything other than hate and revenge and destruction.

She feared that the Jedi rule of non-attachment was far more correct than she had thought. She had, at times, challenged it in her mind, turning the arguments over in her head. Wondered why, wondered if it was really as dangerous as she was taught.

Her Master's fall from grace seemed to be undeniable proof of it.

But Master Kenobi spoke of the twins. Of the hope they provided. It left her confused. Did he hope the babies would grow to kill their father, or turn him back to the light? People spoke in platitudes, softer, unclear words. What was to be expected of these children? Were they to be a weapon? A means to another end?

If it was to turn Anakin back to the light, then were they not using his potential _attachment_ to them to achieve that end? A better end? A new beginning?

What was it, then? Evil? Good? Neither?

So she sought out the children. To look at another result of her Master's falling in love.

Leia smacked her hand into Ahsoka's headtail again, as though annoyed she was not being paid enough attention to. "Sorry, little one," she apologized, amused, then began bouncing lightly. Leia's expression switched back to contentment, and she began reaching out for Ahsoka's finger again. Tiny fingers began to curl around the larger, orange one. It was a firm grip.

"What are you, little girl?" she murmured.

Ahsoka looked at the baby's round brown eyes. Something seemed to catch, to hook onto the back of her mind, tug her forward flowingly as though caught in a stream. Quick images passed through her mind too quickly to sort, swirling on a current of Force that eddied between them.

A brown-eyed, brown-haired girl running wildly through elegant hallways, laughing. A fierce voice lifted, indistinguishable words ringing into the air. The sound of a fist striking a table. A young woman standing at the entrance of a large building, arguing. A woman in white with intricately coiled hair, standing tall on a pavilion. A shout of defiance.

Then Ahsoka was looking at a baby's face again. It blinked back at her, questioningly. Her mouth rounded into an attempt at a toothless smile. She squealed.

"I hope we're not expecting too much," said a tired, low voice, and Ahsoka snapped quickly to the side, startled, to watch Obi-Wan step into the nursery area of the medical bay. "They give so much hope."

A fierce voiced lifted. She tried to recall the image that accompanied it, but it passed by like a shadow. She struggled to assemble the images and sounds. She was not prone towards flashes of the future. It was very jumbled. She tried to focus. She had only seen Padme Amidala a few times in real life. A few others in holos. Always proud, regal, sharp. A fierce voice in the Senate.

"This one will be like her mother," she said, tilting her head back towards Leia, who squirmed impatiently. Ahsoka began to bounce her a little again. She did not see Obi-Wan's look of consternation.

"You've seen this?"

Ahsoka frowned a little. "I don't know. I saw…something. Her." She smiled down at the baby again. "You're already a fierce one, aren't you?" Leia bubbled with assent, and tried to eat her fingers. "I saw her growing up. And she was strong."

Obi-Wan stood beside the cradle, looked down on the sleeping boy, then to the girl cradled in Ahsoka's arms. His gaze settled on Ahsoka's face. He seemed to be weighing something. "You've grown up, too."

She looked over at him, smiled faintly. It seemed like praise, almost. She nodded in thanks.

"You should be knighted."

That caused a startled blink, and for her head to snap upward. "Knighted? I…but the Trials, and I…."

"You've earned it." He looked at the light bandage still on her shoulder. "If what you've told me is true, of what you experienced when you woke…I did not take the Trials myself. Sometimes life puts you through tests far more challenging." Obi-Wan stepped closer, looked down at the child Ahsoka was holding. "I'm the last of the Council, save for Yoda. It's my decision to make. You're skilled, Ahsoka, even if you're still young." He lifted an eyebrow, and she saw a bit of Obi-Wan's usual dry humor shine through for a moment. "This is hardly permission for you to be reckless, though."

A smile broke through her surprise. It was a relief to see him, for however short a time, back to himself. She bounced Leia lightly, rocking her gently in her arms. She had always thought Master Skywalker would be there to knight her. She pressed her lips together. They needed Knights. She sensed no deception from Obi-Wan. He meant what he said, it was true. But it was also true there were nearly no Jedi left. Those who survived were broken, scattered, hunted. It was a step that would not be taken in other circumstances. She was needed. Whatever she could do, it would be needed.

_Permission to be reckless_. She forced the image of Skyguy out of her mind. This was not the time. She would not mention Anakin in front of Obi-Wan. Not now. Not when she was too confused herself. It would only prod at wounds not yet healed. She would think about it more, later. "I would be honored, Master Kenobi," she replied.

Leia waved her hands toward each other in an attempt at a clap, though it ended up mostly being wriggling. It caught the attention of the adults. Simple happiness radiated out from her newborn mind. She had a full belly, she was warm and not in her bed, and the big people were including her in their circle. All was right with the world.

"There must be others," Ahsoka said aloud, looking at Leia, then the sleeping Luke, feeling suddenly protective. She came to see the babies, unsure if she would find any answers. She still didn't know if she had any, but they provided a purpose.

She was a Jedi. She would protect who she could. The rest would take time.

She turned towards Master Kenobi. "If I'm to be knighted, then I want a mission. To learn more about what's happening. To find others. Or at least try to." Her face grew hard. "We're Jedi. They can't kill us all, forever." Her arms tightened around the baby. "There was a holocron with names, once. They'll be going after them."

She did not need to add who 'they' would have to be. Later. Not now. Not in front of the babies, not in front of Master Kenobi. She could weep later when she was alone. Now there was work to be done. This had to be the real meaning of _doing what was necessary_. She would be the means. Survival for whoever she could reach would be the results. She would do what she could.

"It will be dangerous."

Ahsoka gave him a hard look. Obi-Wan looked weary, concerned, but nodded. Leia patted her lekku reassuringly.

"I'm hoping I won't have to do it alone."

* * *

A chair scraped outward, and Ahsoka plopped herself down. They looked up, startled at the sudden company. She laced her fingers together, set them on the table and announced, "I have a proposition for you guys."

Three men looked up from their trays of half-eaten food, uncertain. Fives bent his head and became occupied in bending a fork between his fingers.

"I need your help." Two faces looked back at her, expectant. One pushed remains of food around on his plate. She fidgeted. She knew what she needed to say, but not quite how to say it. Almost all of it felt too blunt, awkward. "I want to begin searching for survivors. I'd like the three of you to come with me. Senator Amidala is to have a funeral on Naboo." She took a deep breath. "I'd like to start by finding a Gungan girl who lives there again."

Rex said, "Gungan girl? A Force-sensitive. You're talking about the kidnapped kids, back with the stolen holocron."

"Yes. I want to start there." She reached up, touched her shoulder lightly. "I want the three of you to come with me. To help. I'm doing it either way, but I'd rather have some men at my back that I can trust." She gave them a hopeful look.

The three clones exchanged glances. Echo spoke first, uncertainly. "You're…giving us a choice?"

Ahsoka looked at him blankly for a moment, then deflated a little. She closed her eyes and passed a hand over them. "Yes. I'm giving you a choice."

She waited, watching the three of them stare at each other for a minute, each looking, to varying degrees, puzzled. As the confusion drew on, she ventured, "There is no more Army of the Republic. There is no more Republic." They had to face this. So did she. She braced herself again. "You three. You can't go back." She lowered her head. "The Empire." She bit her lip. "You know what would happen if they knew you…" she chose a gentler phrase than _betrayed them_, "were missing in action. You're…free agents, now, I guess. I'm still working out everything, and I need to talk to Senator Organa. But I'd like to have you with me. I know I can trust you. I want to make this work."

"And if we say no?" Fives asked, voice dull and head bowed.

"Then I go on my own," she said simply, standing, chair scraping against the floor. "If you want some time to think about it, please take some. But it won't be long before departure for Naboo."

Fives did not move. Echo looked worried. Rex looked up at her and nodded once, tried to look encouraging. Her face softened, then she left.

It took time for them to come to a decision, for they were unwilling to part ways.

Three men and a woman stood before a long-range transport.

They were changed from what they had always been.

Three lacked armor. They were soldiers no longer.

One lacked a silka bead Padawan braid. She was an apprentice no longer.

She stepped forward with a look of resolve.

Three men followed her.


	5. And Nobody Has to Think Too Much

_And Nobody Has to Think Too Much_

_Praise be to Nero's Neptune  
The Titanic sails at dawn  
And everybody's shouting  
"Which Side Are You On?"_

'_Desolation Row' – Bob Dylan_

_

* * *

_

Fives knelt behind a lichen covered tree, blaster poised, ready. Two troopers were making their way, slowly, towards him and the hidden pair behind him.

Two Gungans, a mother and a daughter. They crouched low in a dip in the terrain, the mother holding the little girl tightly in her arms.

It had gone well, until departure. Now half the swamplands of Naboo seemed to be alight. Smoke clogged the air, smoldering on wet woods, setting the eerie pathways of the Gungan lands into a foggy haze. The hot humidity hung with the stink of rot and smoke. They'd been separated in the chaos of running bodies, blaster fire and flames.

Fives wished, so very much, that the pair they had set out to rescue had not followed _him_ through the melee.

Two troopers, blasters poised, ready, held in grips so very much like his own. Two troopers, two brothers, on an opposite side of a battle. It was bizarre. It was wrong. He knew where his loyalty lay. The Republic. Always the Republic. Was it that different, going by a different name? Empire, Republic? How different were they, ruled by the same man and defended by the same army?

It would be so easy. Set down his weapon. Step out. Give a story, say he'd been pulled along, unwillingly. The Commander said they'd be considered missing. He knew what she really meant. _Traitors_. _Deserters_.

The Captain, the Commander, Echo. He could leave them to themselves. If they escaped, fine. He wished them no ill. If they were caught, they would be traitors. He remembered rumors of a brother who had gone turncoat. He wouldn't be like that. He knew where his loyalty lay.

A white armored figure turned his way. A black visor prevented him from knowing exactly where the man looked, but it seemed to peer through the air, lock onto him. He leaned back slightly, around the curve of thick tree trunk.

It was too hot. The humidity, the heat. Beads of sweat stank their way down his neck.

He felt too exposed. He wanted his armor. Civilian clothes with bits of gear attached was pathetic. Flimsy. Smooth, seamless white armor. He missed it.

He could step out. Set down his blaster. Raise his hands. Tell a story of coercion. He could go home.

A faint rustle came from below him. He caught himself before he gasped. There was the sound of battle in the distance, but this was close.

The little Gungan girl looked up at him. She was tucked flat against her mother, but her head peeped over the woman's shoulder. A hand was free, and it was braced against the dirt and moss her mother leaned against. A couple of pebbles skittered downward, set loose from her touch.

Yellow eyes looked up at him, and her head tilted to the side. She blinked solemnly at him.

The girl couldn't be more than four, perhaps five standard years old.

He wished them no ill.

A boom of gunfire echoed off surrounding hills. There were other troopers in the swamplands. He didn't know their mission, but it was tearing through the wetlands. He'd seen Gungans struck down as he and the others had run into the mob that separated them. There were not really that many soldiers. But they were armed, professional, and descending on an unsuspecting and unprepared city. They'd never attacked so defenseless a place before. Why now?

Fives' breathing grew jagged. A little girl. She blinked up at him.

His brothers were tearing apart a city to capture a little girl. A little future Jedi. He frowned. _Execute Order 66_. The Jedi are traitors. That couldn't possibly mean younglings. That was insane.

It was all _wrong_. They were the good guys. The heroes. Heroes in white armor, doing what had to be done for the betterment of all.

What did destroying a defenseless city have to do with it?

Yellow little girl's eyes were watching him. Her wide mouth slowly began to stretch into a smile, chin tilted upward hopefully. _Trusting_.

He turned back to the swamp, watched as one of the two soldiers drifted closer.

It was all wrong. Civilians were relying on him for safety, and it was all wrong.

The first soldier stepped beside the tree. Fives' hand snapped outward, dropping his own blaster as he shoved other's down, muzzle pointing to the ground as it went off. Five slipped around, arm snaking around his neck, yanked the man in front of him up and back. There was a cough of surprise from the man he was restraining, and a yell of challenge from the second. Fives was faster. His prisoner's blaster was flailing around as the man struggled, and he had a hand on the trigger. It took only a moment for Fives to place his hand over his brother's and squeeze it.

The first shot flew wild. The second trooper spooked, leapt to the side out of an instinct for self-preservation. A second squeeze of Fives' hand and the other man went down, collapsing as a leg crumpled from under him. He bellowed in pain. He was down but not out, and was writhing in the mud, trying to right himself. Fives twisted the man in his arms backward, jerked his knee upward into his prisoner's, back, then shoved his foot into the back of his left knee, splitting him into an arch, then down to the ground. He spun quickly, down to his own knees as the second soldier finally got himself righted enough to begin firing wildly in his direction. He twisted the blaster out of the other man's grip, shot back as carefully as he could with blue laser bursts flying past his face.

It hit the other man's arm, hard, and it flapped upward, fingers releasing the blaster, which spun through the air before squelching down into the mud. There was a heavy groan of pain across the clearing. Fives took the end of the blaster in his hands and rammed it sharply into helmet of the man at his feet. He spasmed, then lay still.

He was breathing hard. It took a moment to gulp in enough of the smoldering air to right himself, stand. His vision tunneled for a moment, and he worried about passing out. Then the world cleared, and he heard a clicking noise.

He turned, too fast. Blackness spun around his vision, but cleared almost instantly. He found himself in a near crouch, ready for another attack.

But there was no one else. The Gungan mother had stood, and was hefting his dropped blaster in her free hand. The other was full of her child. He must have had a shocked expression. The woman said, "Meesa be knowin' what they be plannin' with my girl." Her own yellow eyes narrowed, her lips drawn tightly together. "Meesa not be knowing much about fightin', but nobody be gettin' her except through _meesa_." Her finlike ears flapped lightly across her back in defiance and fear, the binding she had in them when they first arrived lost in the swamp.

Fives was suddenly shaken. They were supposed to be preventing harm. Not causing it. This woman should never have been placed in such a situation. She was a civilian. It was sickening.

"Come on," he said, finding himself sounding strangely steady. It was eerie, even to himself. "Just don't shoot me on accident if you don't know how to use that thing."

Her eyes widened a little bit, and she looked at her daughter quickly. Both of them then seemed to come to some sort of understanding, and they looked at Fives with resolution.

He jogged over to where the other blaster lay, and quickly detached its power cell. The man nearby groaned, his helmet facing them. His armor was blackened, and there was a smell of char and burnt flesh in the air. Fives tried to apologize, but the words didn't come.

The Gungans were moving forward, mother running with child in one arm and weapon in the other. They paused, waiting for him, at the other side of the little clearing.

He turned and followed.

* * *

Fives sat on the edge of his bunk. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. It seemed like he was doing this a lot lately. His head hurt, and he knew it wasn't from an injury or a normal headache.

His brain felt too full. And like someone had just shaken it, really hard.

They'd all made it, somehow. Their ship was on the way to Alderaan, where they could have some measure of safety.

The door opened with a light rush of recycled air, and Echo entered. He sat on the bunk across from him for a moment, then reached out and plucked up the holobook sitting on the narrow table in the center of the little room. He paid attention to it, occasionally pressing buttons until he found whatever it was he was looking for, then settled into reading. His posture mimicked Fives', though rather than his hands pressing against his face, they were filled with the holo.

They sat in silence. Eventually, Fives asked, "What you reading?"

Echo shrugged. "Holonovel. Commander suggested I find something."

Fives snorted. "No manuals?"

Echo gave him a wry grin. "Nah. This stuff's not so bad, though." His eyes flicked across the screen. "Want one? I think we've got another somewhere."

Fives shook his head, and silence slowly reclaimed them, save for the sound of the engines and the occasional tap of Echo flipping an electronic page.

"Do you," Fives said after a time, the quiet filling the room too heavily, "Do you think it's right?" He shifted uncomfortably. He felt half uncertain of what he even meant.

Echo looked up from his holonovel and across the table, seemed to think for awhile. "I don't know," he admitted, looking just as uncomfortable. "What went on down there, I don't know. Doesn't seem right." He held the holobook lightly, letting it hang between his knees. "But the Commander. The Captain. They wouldn't order us to tear apart some city like that. Least, I don't think so." He shifted a little and asked, nervously, "You think this is going on everywhere?"

Fives closed his eyes, bent his head. If it was happening elsewhere…what was happening to their other brothers? They were good men. Faces they knew well, and not just because they mirrored their own. What was happening to the rest of the 501st? Were they being ordered to find young Jedi as well?

Little girl's eyes watching him in the swamp. A mother trying to pick up a blaster to defend herself, while their brothers tore apart her home and burned it. Two brothers who attacked him, and he left them lying in the mud.

Painfully, he said, "Yeah. I think it is."

* * *

I've been trying to keep this fic running along the lines of canon, but all knowledge is limited, I'm still relatively new to this depth of canon knowledge (so I don't know precisely how much I may be missing) and there's only so much I've been able to dig up about the immediate aftermath of the Clone Wars, Order 66 and the very early days of Empire. I'm assuming that any known possible Jedi would be hunted down as well, including children, to be either killed or recruited. Either way, death or being sent to the Emperor is bad.

~Queen


	6. No Use to Sit and Wonder

_No Use to Sit and Wonder_

_It ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe  
That light I never knowed  
An' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe  
I'm on the dark side of the road  
Still I wish there was somethin' you would do or say  
To try and make me change my mind and stay_

'_Don't Think Twice, It's All Right' – Bob Dylan_

* * *

Fire bloomed between her fingertips.

She set it to the wick of the candle, watched it catch. A bit of smoke curled upwards past her face.

The light flickered and danced, red-yellow flame gleaming off azure eyes.

* * *

"You have _got_ to be using the Force!" Fives groaned, tossing his sabacc cards onto the table in exasperation.

Ahsoka laughed in response, waving a hand and insisting, "I'm not, I swear!" She puffed up with as much theatrical, mock self-importance as she could muster. She placed a hand over her heart. "A Jedi does not cheat." Then she stuck her tongue out at him.

Rex snickered, and Echo tried not to snort liquid through his nose, being halfway through a swig of ale.

They sat in a ring around the table just off the ship's galley, an impressive array of fruit, snacks and sweets littering the table. Candy wrappers were scattered in little hills around their feet. Several empty bottles of Corellian ale were sitting in front of them, frosty glass towers standing upright amid the mess and the chips in the center of the table.

They'd spoiled themselves. They all knew they shouldn't have, but it was the first time any of them had been let loose in a grocery store with money to spend. They had managed to come out with enough food for daily consumption, but all four of them had returned with baskets well laden with seemingly irresistible junk as well.

They were receiving a stipend. It wasn't a great deal of money, but enough to keep them in fuel, food and weapons, with a little on the side for any repairs they might need to make. The ship was mostly theirs, on loan from a concerned Senator of Alderaan.

Their mission was twofold, covert. Reconnaissance and, if possible, rescue. It was too dangerous, in the volatile aftermath of the Republic's fall, to take much direct action against the newly formed Empire. Too many rumors, both unsubstantiated and confirmed, floated around, telling of the deaths of Jedi who survived Order 66 and attempted to fight back. Jedi hunted down to bolt-holes and rooted out. For now, they would watch, wait, and report. And move. They would keep their heads down, but their ears open and eyes sharp. If they could find any surviving Jedi, any surviving Force-sensitives, they would quietly help them vanish, scatter.

They had already learned Naboo and its Queen Apailana silently held sympathies for the Jedi. It was good news. Another possible haven to hide in, once things calmed in the Gungan swamplands. They had successfully gotten Roo-Roo and her mother to Alderaan.

Three well-trained clone troopers and a newly minted Jedi Knight were an army unto themselves - if a little unsure of how to work as a small unit. They'd begun the evening talking strategy. The rescue of the Gungans had ended entirely too messily.

Things had devolved into fun when the ale and sabacc cards were broken out.

"Then how do you explain that smug look?" Fives was continuing, holding an accusing finger at her. "You've won all three of the other rounds!"

Ahsoka gave him her sweetest, most innocent expression. "Smug? _Me?_"

"Yeah," Rex added, "_That_ look."

Ahsoka gasped. "You too, Rex?" She clutched at her heart as though wounded. Rex just laughed more. "Seriously though," she continued, waving a hand at the empty bottles in front of the men, "It couldn't possibly be because you three are all _drunk_."

Fives took a deliberately long pull on his bottle of ale, then waggled his eyebrows. Ahsoka rolled her eyes. "How can you drink that stuff? It tastes awful!" Her bottle was still nearly full. Only a couple of mouthfuls seemed to have been taken from it. "Liquid grain." She made a face.

"_Fermented_ liquid grain," Rex corrected her, nodding sagely. Ahsoka rolled her eyes again.

"I am not buying this stuff for you guys anymore."

"Guess we'll have to go do the grocery shopping then, huh, Captain?" Fives said, leaning on the table and doing a very poor job of a conspiratorial whisper.

Rex snorted. "You _are_ drunk, aren't you?"

Fives grinned rather stupidly, leaned back in his chair and declared, "I still say she's using the Force!"

Before Ahsoka could open her mouth to argue, Echo stopped counting on his fingers and shoved his arms out, upsetting the piles of junk food on the table. Rex had to quickly reach out and grab a couple of bottles before he knocked them to the floor. "She's not using the Force!" he declared. "Because I win!" He tilted his head back and laughed.

He tossed his cards onto the table. Three other heads peered around to look at his cards. A Star, an Endurance and a two of staves looked up at them. Twenty-three.

A chorus of groans came from the others. Echo leaned forward, half out of his seat, to reach for the chips in the center of the table. Then his hand slipped, and he crashed face first into a pile of cracknuts. After a moment, he said, "Ow."

Rex and Ahsoka erupted into snorts of laughter, as Fives tried to peel Echo off the table. "Echo, how the hell can we be cloned from the same guy and you be such a lightweight?"

Echo tried to focus on him. "Um, genetics?" he suggested, then began to turn green. Then he said, very seriously, "I think I'm going to throw up on you."

Fives blanched and immediately began to scramble backwards. Rex stood up, hooked an arm through Echo's, hauled him to his feet and announced, "I think you need to spend some time in the 'fresher."

"Sorry, Captain," he said, wobbling as Rex tried to steer him away from the table. His legs began to give out, and Fives leapt forward to hold up his other side.

"Yeah, just don't throw up on me again," Rex said. Echo groaned.

Fives' eyes bulged. "He's thrown up on you _before_?"

Echo made some interesting distressed sounds. The only coherent words were, "'Fresher, now."

The two somewhat less tipsy clones rushed the nauseous one out of the room. Ahsoka covered her mouth behind a hand and tried to repress a fresh peal of laughter. She winced when some retching sounds emanated from the direction they'd gone, quickly followed by sounds of, '_Aw, yuck_' from the other two.

A few minutes later, Rex poked his head back into the dining area. Ahsoka was standing, dropping the chips into piles, each settling into stacks with quiet clicking sounds. She'd dragged a bag over and it was half full of garbage.

"Commander?" he asked. She looked up. "Need a hand?"

She shook her head, lekku bouncing lightly against her shoulders. "I've got it Rex. You go lie down before you get like Echo."

He looked sheepish and scratched the back of his head. "I'm not that far gone."

She smiled. "It's okay. You guys usually do it. I can handle it this time. I'll take watch, too. Get some rest, Rex."

He looked like he might be ready to argue, but Ahsoka put her hands on her hips, lifted a brow, and gave him her best '_Do as I say_' expression. He gave her a halfhearted smile in return and a quietly chuckled, "Yes, ma'am. Good night, Ahsoka."

She shooed him out. "'Good night, Rex."

* * *

The light flickered and danced, red-yellow flame gleaming off azure eyes.

Ahsoka pulled herself into a meditative position, legs folded, perched on her chair. The candle sat in the center of the table, so recently cleared of trash. She breathed deeply through her nose, inhaling the slightly herbal scent radiating from the warm wax of the candle. She set her hands lightly on her knees and rested her back against the chair.

Looking from one empty seat to another, she smiled a little. Half an hour ago, three men had sat in those seats, looking as relaxed as she had ever seen them. Stars were idling past the long, narrow window beside the table. She watched them for a moment, the white pricks of light floating easily by as they glided forward through space.

Her little unit. A squad. She wasn't entirely thrilled with the effects of the alcohol, but it was worth it, even if Echo was probably going to have a throbbing headache when he woke up. They'd needed a little time to unwind. The last several weeks had taken too much of a toll on all of them. It was good to cut loose a little and laugh. To try to reknit some of the fragmented bonds.

She wasn't entirely sure what had happened, when the Order had gone out. Something had gone badly with Fives. She wasn't sure what, but there was a cloud of guilt that would hover around him at times, and a certain concern lacing through the behavior of both Rex and Echo. She did not know exactly what happened, but she could give a good guess. She couldn't be angry with him, even if he had tried to follow orders. She knew what he was up against. In the end, whatever had passed between the three men, he'd chosen his side, and seemed to be content enough with them now, though they all had their uncertainties.

She wanted them to be happy. As much as possible. They had minimal free time during the war. They wouldn't have much even now, but she wanted them to have some of the freedom they had been denied in the army. Echo already seemed to be taking to her suggestion of reading novels. He'd been too stir crazy on the way to Naboo. He needed to keep his brain busy. She wasn't sure what to suggest with Fives, but hoped something would turn up. Rex, she knew, would be able to take care of himself. She smiled at the thought.

Attachment, again. It seemed to plague her. These were her men now. They would be following her orders, on her self-appointed mission. She was glad to have Rex there, to bounce ideas off of. She may be a Knight, but she was aware of how new she was, and how she would not have the luxury of advice from other Jedi, unless she swung by Tatooine and sought out Master Kenobi. She would need Rex.

She realized her hands were clenched together. She forced her palms to open, her fingers to relax. It was an old argument with herself. Rex. She still did not know what to make of the rule of non-attachment.

There were days when she feared becoming too close to anyone. There were other days when she feared that fear, and tried to rebel against it. Fear led to the dark side. She couldn't be afraid all the time, become paranoid. Her hands were starting to ball up again. She grimaced and forced them back into a relaxed position.

Breathe in, breathe out. The candle flickered easily in the recycled air. The muscles in her neck began to ease. Her eyes closed, and she could see the outline of the flame like a specter against the back of her eyelids.

She would _not_ be afraid. She would _not_ turn. She would _not_ be like Anakin.

Her eyes snapped open. She forced them to close again. Breathe in, breathe out. Air rushed through her nose. She focused the image of the candle in her mind. She'd always admired Anakin Skywalker. Imitated, even idolized. Her brave Hero With No Fear, who had turned out to be ever so afraid.

She had learned to follow in his footsteps. Now she had to unlearn that, find her own way. She was a Knight now, with no Master to rely on. She had to rely on herself. On Rex, Echo, Fives. They had chosen to stay with her.

Whatever had happened, their attachments to her and to each other had kept them all alive.

Her eyes opened and she watched the candle for a time, the wax melting and spilling over the lip of the column in slow rivulets.

It could not be wrong. It did not _feel_ wrong. It could not be wrong, to care about other people. It could not be wrong to defend people you care about.

The Jedi Order was gone. She had to rely on herself and those around her. She could not be detached. She could not be uncaring. Palpatine did not care about anyone. That she understood. So she would be counter.

She would care. She would care, and she would be attached, and she would be sad and hurt and cry if she lost someone, and she'd fight like hell to keep that from happening.

And if it meant breaking the rules the Jedi Order had established, then so be it. They were gone. _Gone_. The times were changing, and the rules with them.

Ahsoka reached up, brushed tears off her cheeks with the palms of her hands. From one attachment to another.

She fought herself into calm. She rested her hands lightly on her knees, palms down. She watched the flame of the candle before her, and the stars that drifted beyond that light. Around the flame, a halation grew, a halo of rainbow colored light around the center. The longer she watched it, the stronger it grew, until it seemed to fill her vision. It grew and fluttered with her breaths.

She took it with her when she closed her eyes. The brightness and the flame and the stars.

She cast out with her mind, searching. The bond that still existed between her and her Master lingered, a silver rope nearly consumed by black blemish and pock marked with misuse and decay. She wrapped her hands around it, felt the beat of it, a pulse under her fingertips. She did not follow it, this time. She knew what lay at the other end of that road. The_ dark, void, rage_.

She pulled. Not towards her, but away. It strained. She didn't want to let go. It remained intact. She tried again. She could not chance her Master finding them, making use of the old bond to track her.

She twisted, feeling it begin to tear. _Rex, Echo, Fives_. She would not risk them. They were her responsibility now. _Let go. Let go_.

The rope snapped, shattering in her fingers, and she gasped, head jerking upward as she convulsed once, abruptly back in her own body, sitting in the darkened dining room of their ship. The candle had burned low, not yet a puddle of wax, but would be soon.

She was trembling. She rested her hands on the edge of the table, taking long, slow, calming breaths of air. Slow in, slower out. She forced herself into relaxation, focusing on the melting candle, pooling in warm yellow-white tones against the stark white of the tabletop.

She gathered stillness around her like a warm cloak, and spent time trying to meditate rather than cry.

She did not quite succeed.

* * *

Far in the distance, a man in black stood on the bridge of his ship.

There was a snapping somewhere within the Force. An old bond had broken from its tether, slipped away into the night.

Somewhere, throughout all the fury that welled within him, there was a faint swell of relief.

If she had to die, then he, at least, had not been the one to kill her.

* * *

Ahsoka fell asleep with her head pillowed on her arms.

Rex wrapped a blanket over her shoulders, blew out the candle, and let her be.

* * *

Hopefully I got all that stuff with sabacc correct. I'm not much of a card player to begin with. I really wanted to have at least one scene in here somewhere that was funny. So much of this is drama! and angst! Gets a little depressing to write after awhile.

While poking around Wookiepedia gathering information, I found out that the little Gungan girl's name is Roo-Roo Page. XD Heck of a name.

I've spent some time thinking how to deal with Ahsoka and Vader. To be honest, I'm letting the lyrics point me in various directions, and _Don't Think Twice_ gave me a very strong image of Ahsoka before a candle, praying for/parting from Anakin. Ahsoka's trying to hide and to stay on the move – the last thing she wants now is to confront Vader. Not so much for herself, but because of the work she's doing. Contact is too much of a risk, not just to herself, but to everything she and the boys are starting. She's moving in the shadows where no one can see. Besides, I'm sure "Ahsoka vs. Vader" fics have been done by now. :)

Hope you enjoyed.

~Queen


	7. Hangin From a Tree

_Hangin' From a Tree_

_It didn't take them long to try him in their court of law_

_He was guilty then of thinking, a crime much worse than all_

_They sentenced him to die so his seed of thought can't spread_

_And infect the little children; that what the law had said_

'_Two Hangmen' – Mason Proffit_

* * *

The light of the force field cast a pale blue pall over the room.

Rex did not want to look over at the cell, or see the man standing within. It was hard to resist though. Some basic, inner need to stare at a disaster, to be appalled and shocked at the source. He did not gawk, but kept the look cool, a simple tilt of the head in the right direction, a cut of the eyes toward the brother who'd betrayed them all, now locked up.

He turned to the guard on duty, a trooper named Clink. "He been keeping quiet?"

"Yes, sir," came the instant reply.

He wanted to ask if Slick really understood the consequences of what he'd done. There had only been a handful of injuries in the evening's explosions, but it would be the casualties tomorrow that would show the real extent of his actions. Heavy cannons would be a help, but without the rest of their ground assault, it would make it harder to fight off the Separatists. Harder inevitably meant higher casualties.

Claimed he loved his brothers. Bullshit. Maybe he wasn't pulling the trigger himself, but he'd taken away a part of their ability to defend themselves. Claimed he did it for freedom. What use was _freedom_ if everyone you're fighting for is _dead_?

It was _stupid_. The results and wrongness of his actions seemed so _clear_. Slick couldn't be stupid enough not to understand that.

The only question was why he did it _anyway_.

Some measure of his confusion, his distain, must have showed in his face.

From his place within the cell, Slick said, leaning casually against the doorway, just before the containment field began, "You really don't get it, do you?"

Rex fought the urge to scoff and order him to shut up. He settled for a scowl. Slick looked strangely thoughtful. He snorted after a moment.

"You'll understand someday. Maybe not now, but you will." He snorted again, and followed it with a mirthless laugh. "Anyone still alive when this nightmare ends will, in one way or another." He pushed off the wall, turned, and sat down on the cot against the back wall of the cell.

Rex exchanged a look with Clink, who shook his head and shrugged. "He's been saying that to just about everyone who's come in here."

Rex looked again towards the cell. Slick had lain down with his face to the wall and back to his guards.

There was no choice about tomorrow's battle. There was no choice but to fight. It was what they were born for; their purpose in life. Every clone knew this from as far back as he could remember. They were heroes, protecting and freeing the galaxy.

He called them _slaves_.

It was repugnant, an insult to everything they worked for. They were _soldiers_. That had a meaning. They had a purpose.

He put his helmet back on. He'd checked on the prisoner. He had work to do, and not much time to rest before the fighting began.

Still, the word settled in the back of his mind like a seed. The years slowly watered it, until it began to grow.

* * *

Everything had gone according to plan, until now.

Rex was on his way out. Timing had been delicate. He'd gotten the right alarms down, and the right doors up, on the southern side of the complex's outer wall. Judging by the repeated _boom-rumble_ of explosions outside, Echo and Fives' little distraction was playing merry hell with the ground assault vehicles kept in the northwest quadrant.

He'd left the command center when Ahsoka had sent him the evacuation signal. She had the prisoners. He'd meet her on the way. They'd get out, rendezvous with Echo and Fives half a kilometer from the site, and get away. Clean. Easy.

Except for Cody standing with a blaster pointed at him in the middle of the hallway.

"Drop it," said Cody, and there was no understanding in his voice, no sympathy on his face. When Rex paused, Cody's stony expression deepened into a glare. "Now."

Rex played for time. Slowly, he lowered himself, setting the hand blaster he was holding on the ground. He kept his hands halfway up, keeping an eye on Cody warily as he kicked it aside, out of reach. The Commander was tough to beat in a fistfight. Rex had done it in practice rounds before, but never with regularity. Often such bouts ended in a draw. He would have to choose his moment, and hope reinforcements did not reach them before he had a chance. Disarm, subdue, run like hell, hope to get out before he was caught. He rolled carefully forward on his feet, kept low and ready to spring.

Cody knew what he was doing, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. They'd sparred enough, worked together enough to know how the other operated.

The sound of feet in the hallway behind him gave them both warning. Neither moved. Rex wanted to smile, but it was too dangerous a moment to allow satisfaction. It was not the thunking pound of armored feet. Too light.

He took a breath. The footsteps stopped, and as Cody realized it was a Jedi standing in the crux between hallways, Rex launched himself forward.

Ahsoka was shouting his name, and he was shouting back, "_Go_!" as he tried to tackle the Commander. Three Force-sensitive children of various ages were with her, the smallest in her arms. He wanted to give her reassurance, but there was no time as he plowed forward. Cody had recovered from the shock of seeing Ahsoka, alive, and the prisoners escaping. He only hoped she would get out, instead of try to help him. She had her own problems. This was his.

Reluctant footsteps receded, slowly, then faster, away.

Cody had not gone down in his initial attack. He'd braced a leg behind him, and was pushing back. His blaster rifle was pinned between them. They grappled for it. Rex shoved his shoulder forward, slipped his arm up and hand around, yanked out the power cell. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and skittered off against the wall as they tried to wrestle the blaster out of the other's hands, feet scuffling against the floor.

"MIA? I never thought you'd go traitor," Cody spat. "Shutting down base, blowing up the ground assault. Been taking lessons from Slick, have you?"

It stung. Cody twisted abruptly to the side, jamming an elbow into Rex's unarmored stomach. He was tensed for it, abdominal muscles absorbing the blow, but impact from an armored arm still hurt. Rather than doubling over, he grunted and was forced back a step.

"I'm no traitor," Rex ground out. "My loyalty was to the Republic. I don't know what the hell this Empire is, but I know what it's not." They slammed against each other again, Cody trying to wield the powerless blaster like a club, bringing the butt-end of it down in an arc, aimed at Rex's face, hoping to catch him in the head and send him crashing down. It failed; Rex shifted, blocked, the blaster slamming down onto his angled, raised forearm, and he twisted, sending the blaster scraping off his arm and to the side. There was little chance of injuring Cody through the heavy plastoid armor he was wearing. He'd likely break his hand. Rex twisted back, struck him with an open palm, shoving him backward instead. "It's not right, Cody. You can't tell me you think all this is _right_!"

Rex pressed his advantage. Cody shoved the blaster forward, aiming to ram Rex in the chest. In too close, the motion was pure reflex; he turned, brought his arms up. The right hooked around the outside, the left braced itself inside. Cody swore as Rex _pushed_ with his left forearm, and _pulled_ with his right. The torque wrenched the blaster out of Cody's hands, and it clattered to the floor as Rex stepped inward and tried to get a lock on Cody's arm. It slipped from his grasp when Cody swung hard with his left, and his fist connected with Rex's cheek, sending him reeling as pain exploded across his jaw. He staggered into the wall, raising his arms to protect his head as Cody pressed the attack.

"Of course it's not right!" Cody shouted into his face, fists pounding down hard. Rex continued to keep him from landing a second punch, though a trickle of blood was streaming down his nose and his head was beginning to spin. Air was coming in short gasps. He grit his teeth.

"Then leave!" Between hits, Rex brought up a leg and kicked outward, taking Cody in the gut and pushing him off. He slid to the side, freeing himself from being pinned to the wall. "Come with us. Get out."

Cody hesitated. Rex, for a moment, hoped he'd gotten though to his old friend. They'd sparred plenty of times. He'd never thought they'd fight for real. They both paused, breathing hard, catching their breaths. Cody began to shake his head. "Do you know what's been going on, Rex? Do you really?"

Neither of them relaxed, but kept cautious attention on the other. "I've seen some of it firsthand. Heard rumors about the rest."

When Cody lowered his eyes and hung his head, Rex knew the fight was all but over. When Cody looked up again, he seemed haunted. His face gaunt, pained. "It's hell here. Half the men are falling apart. The other half are out of control. Some of the officers," he jerked his head at Rex, and twitched slightly as though to indicate himself, "are disappearing. Some are getting reassigned, I know, but some are just _gone_. Someone's got to try to keep everyone together, or it'll get worse. We'll all go insane."

Rex grimaced. Of course things were falling apart. Who would want to go through with some of the orders he'd heard being executed? They were trained, battle hardened, ready at a moment's notice, loyal to a fault.

To a fault. The men were beginning to understand what it meant to thoughtlessly follow orders. Blind trust in a broken machine. A machine they'd been taught was unbreakable. It began with the deaths of the Jedi. It was continuing. They sacrificed their lives for the freedom of the people of the Republic. The mill of death that ground them all down was being turned on those same people.

What use was _freedom_ if everyone was _dead_?

What use was being _alive_ if you weren't _free_?

"I can't do it, Cody," the words caught for a moment, as Rex realized what he was saying. "I can't follow those orders. I had to draw a line somewhere."

_I'm free now_. Ahsoka had said so, and had given them a choice – _free agents_. _Free_.

"We've all got to draw the line somewhere," Cody said tiredly. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, ran a hand through his short hair. "Get out. Get those kids out." He laughed once. It was a hard sound, but not a defeated one. "Go fight your fight out there. I'll do what I can in here. I just wish I had some help."

They locked gazes. There was an understanding, born from too many battles. Each had chosen their ground. It was not the same, but each position was poised for a different fight. "We'll be around," Rex told him.

Cody smirked. "I'll keep that in mind. Get some armor. You look like shit."

Rex tried to laugh, but winced as his swelling face throbbed when he tried to smile. Cody tossed him his handblaster. "Go. Before anyone gets back here. They have to have figured it out by now."

Rex nodded once, then turned and ran.

* * *

_(And now we're two hangmen hangin' from a tree_

_That don't bother me at all)_

Ahsoka was looking at him, her face a mask of sympathy. She lightly checked the blue-purple mottling along the entire right side of his face, with knuckle-shaped indentations from Cody's heavy, gauntleted fist. She scowled at it for a moment, before turning her attention to his arms, his chest, her hands hovering in the air in front of him, reluctant to touch, but needing to be sure he was alright.

Rex was sitting on one of the two examination tables in their cramped medbay. The three younglings were being put to sleep in the bunks of the clone's shared room after they'd had their turn getting checked; Rex had claimed he was fine, but once they were settled, Ahsoka had insisted. When she'd looked like she was going to march him in at lightsaber point, he'd relented. He supposed he probably did look like he just got hit by a speeder truck.

"I can't believe Cody did this to you. Cody!" she was indignant.

"Yeah, well, I broke his gun."

Ahsoka scowled at him. "He almost broke _you_!"

Rex shrugged, rather enjoying her outrage. He tried to grin, and ended up flinching as blood-swollen bruising tried to change shape. Ahsoka was immediately back to checking his face, anger forgotten in concern. She picked up a bottle of bacta and lightly sprayed it across his sore jaw.

She held a hand up, just above his cheek. "I don't think I can get rid of all of it, but I can at least help the bacta along, take down some of the swelling. You're lucky you didn't lose a tooth. Hold still," she warned. She closed her eyes in concentration, her brow furrowing slightly. A cool, itchy prickle ran across his flesh as she began to channel the Force.

He had never thought before, of working the way Cody was trying to. Their situations were different. He'd never been given the chance, been put in the same position. Hopefully Cody knew he had somewhere to go if he ever had to draw another line – they were in the business of smuggling Force-sensitives now. It couldn't be much different to help some brothers quietly disappear, if they knew who wanted out.

He refused to think of himself as a slave, as Slick had so indelicately put it – but there had been a lack of freedom. A lack of choice, of opportunity to _leave_, to take another path. That much was true. He couldn't approve of Slick's methods. His actions put too many in danger. But the man had been right about one thing at least. Rex had come to understand his motives, and the price they were paying for being what they were.

He was free to make his own choices now. Ahsoka's face was serene, her hand still poised just above his cheek, working on healing him. They weren't in the Grand Army anymore, though he still referred to her by rank as often as not. He followed her because it was what he wanted. He had freedom to choose. This was his choice.

He hesitated a little, then reached up, placed his hand over hers. Her eyes snapped back open, blinked. Her head tilted slightly to the side in query. Hand rested against hand against cheek. He watched her eyes widen at the continued intimacy of the gesture; the dark stripes of her lekku deepened when he did not let go.

She suddenly could not look at him, but did not pull away either. He was uncertain. Following orders did make things simple, at least. He retreated onto a safer topic, unsure of how to proceed. "Cody said some brothers are disappearing."

She ventured a look at him again, gave a small nod.

"I was thinking, if we get the chance, we could try to help with that."

She seemed to be looking at him a long time, but it was really only a moment. A smile began, small at first, then grew, gaining warmth. "Of course."

Her hand cupped his cheek more comfortably. His hand tightened around hers.

He'd gone against orders to keep her alive.

It was the right choice. He felt free.

* * *

You know, you learn that push-pull maneuver I had Rex doing _real fast_ when you have a _roku-dan_ black belt coming at you with a bo staff. Hopefully the fight scene worked out alright. Rex apparently now knows some of the set _yakusokumite_ defensive blocks. XD

And finally! A song not by Bob Dylan! Writing Cody was another first – hopefully his thinking makes sense. There are different ways of fighting. This chapter was just really hard to write, for some reason. I had to keep picking at it, and I'm still not completely sure I'm happy with it, but I've run out of ways to improve it. So, here it is, best as I can get it.

Always,

~Queen


	8. Stand Up Be Counted With All the Rest

_Stand Up Be Counted With All the Rest_

_Can't you see it?  
Can't you feel it?  
It's all in the air  
I can't stand the pressure much longer  
Somebody say a prayer_

'_Mississippi Goddam' – Nina Simone_

* * *

It was festive.

Of all the things Fives' expected to see during a protest, music and dancing were not among them. They'd come to observe, and with three men of identical height, stature and face, they'd broken up to wander around. Fives was pacing around the perimeter of the landing areas, trying to gather the courage to venture further in. It was a lot of people who were not brothers; one of the largest non-military crowds he'd seen in his short life, and the mix of hopeful defiance and celebration was somewhat intimidating.

The sound of repeated, chanting slogans began to rise up from deeper in the crowd, taken up by neighbors. Feet began to stomp and hands began to clap as voices were raised, the tune drifting overhead and mingling with the smells of profit-hunting food vendors taking advantage of the gathering. The chant was catching. Fives found himself nodding along to it. A couple of speeders raced overhead, slogans painted on flags streaming out the windows. Some journalists were huddled nearby, hovercams buzzing around their heads as they reported the goings on. Local police patrolled the edges of the crowd, expressions mildly watchful, benign.

The people of Ghorman were supportive of the Empire. They, like many, had been relieved by the formation of the Empire, and the peace it was promising to deliver.

Then the taxes came. To people already being drained from the Clone War years, the crushingly high levels of taxation were an added burden. Though the Empire continued to reassure them their money was going to relief funding, the people saw no such assistance themselves. Economies stalled, jobs disappeared, money seemed to be funneled only away from their world rather than towards it.

Discontent began to rise, but hope for a peaceful future was still strong. And so they assembled peacefully.

People of varied species would occasionally drift past him, sometimes away, but usually towards the protesters. The crowd was slowly but steadily swelling. He took a deep breath and straightened up, trying to find a good entry spot. He didn't want to get in too close to the actual landing platforms. Governor Tarkin was expected to arrive, and he didn't want to be too close to the soldiers that would inevitably arrive with him. He needed to be just another face in the crowd.

This was one of the few visible signs of discontent beginning to bubble up from the fall of the Republic. What happened here could signal the way the Empire would handle future diplomatic doctrine.

Fives edged his way around the crowd, ducking a large man wielding an oversized musical instrument. It seemed a little bizarre to him. This could turn very ugly once troops landed. He supposed the people here didn't have reason to suspect the Empire. Not yet, at least.

There was a tap on his shoulder.

He spun, hand dropping towards his blaster. The woman who had startled him leapt back, datapad clutched to her chest, eyes wide. He grimaced and relaxed. In turn, so did she.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you," she apologized, looking a little nervous, then straightened as she launched into what sounded like an often-repeated speech. "I'm getting signatures for the petition to our Senator." She shoved the datapad at him. "Could you sign?"

"Uh?" Fives said, staring at her offered datapad rather stupidly for a moment. Of course he couldn't sign, even if he wanted to.

She saw his hesitation, and plowed forward, stepping closer and causing him to back up, trying not to trip into one of the other people wandering past. "It's alright if you don't live on-world." She gave him a critical eye. "Spacer, huh? Freighter work, by the looks of you. If you come through Ghorman often, it would be helpful for you too. More money in the pockets of the citizens means more work for you as well." She pressed the datapad at him again. "They're talking about closing down more of the durasteel mills, which means striking in protest by everybody not losing their jobs. If you haul durasteel cargo or any of the related products, you should think about it." The determined look faded a little, and her tone became plaintive. "It's not much, but it would mean a lot to the people here. We're not getting much support. Jobs are all being outsourced."

Then she gave him the big eyes.

Fives blinked. They were very big eyes, and very green. She had a small, upturned nose, with little brownish dapples on it. His mouth went dry and he tried to talk. "You have spots on your face."

Her hopeful look disappeared, and she said, "Huh?" suddenly bewildered. She reached up with a hand and rubbed her face, then checked her fingers. "What? Where?" She patted her face again, looking confused.

Stupid, half-witted _d'kutla_ idiot! Fives tried to get his mouth and brain to start working again. "Nose?" came out. He smacked a hand into his forehead. Such excellent conversational skills!

She blinked at him a couple times. Her nose wrinkled, her head tilted to the side, and she looked at his rapidly reddening face. Her eyes widened a little.

"You mean my freckles?" she asked, turning slightly pink. Fives stared. What was going on? She was smiling at him now. Was she laughing at him? Stupid, stupid! Her lips puckered together, and she waved a hand past his face. "Are you okay?"

He nodded several times, quickly. Keep mouth closed. Perhaps it was time for a strategic retreat?

Then she said, sounding a little shy, "I'm Behri. Behri Mokusei."

Strategic retreat –halted. He gaped. She shook her head, still smiling, lifting a brow and drawling, "It's usually polite to give your name back, mister smooth."

"CT…" He mumbled, trailing off. He did have a name. Names were good. Names were _normal_, numbers were _not_. "Fives." He tried to resist the urge to bang his head into something. _Fives is a number too, idiot!_ _Fives…Fives… pick a kriffing name!_ "Tano?" She was giving him a skeptical look. "Fives Tano." It was good to have a functional brain again. She must think he was a complete dithering idiot.

She was giving him a curious kind of smile, and he tried to focus on that instead of get dizzy. Unfortunately, it just seemed to make it worse. This was the first time he'd been this close to a female who was not the Commander, and she was the Commander, so she didn't count. She was also considerably shorter and skinnier than Behri, who was able to look him straight in the face and seemed a whole lot more female. He resisted the urge to physically smack himself. Head up, eyes back at her _face_, and _pay attention soldier_.

"So," she began slowly, a little sly, "you going to sign my petition or not?" He winced. She looked a little troubled, frowned. "Hey, it's okay." She looked at him thoughtfully again, up and down, then tucked the datapad closer to her. She leaned in and asked, quietly, "Smuggler?" Apparently his continued look of discomfort gave her enough of an answer. Still frowning, she seemed to be taking his measure yet again. Carefully, she added, "I do appreciate your coming out to support everyone here today, if that's all you can do."

He nodded, not really trusting himself to say something intelligent.

"I work at the Red Pond Cafe near the durasteel mills. We make a mean cup of caf. Well, if you like it thick as sludge and black, anyway. Most of the workers do."

She was looking a little embarrassed, and giving him a hesitant smile. His brain switched back on long enough to realize she was extending some kind of invitation. "I like caf."

Well, that wasn't completely brilliant, but at least he managed to string together three coherent words. She seemed to be taking an awful lot of long, hard looks at him. He shifted uncomfortably.

Behri took in a deep breath and said, "Or you can help me find more names." She was standing square, datapad clutched in her arms, looking almost defiant. Her face was red. "Penance. For not signing." She bit her lip, her head lowered, and she seemed to be trying to look at him through her lashes, a little awkward again, as though she'd run out of some daring.

It hit him like a stampeding bantha. She was trying to _flirt_ with him.

He had to tell Echo. He'd be so jealous.

He tried to calm down and keep himself from saying more stupid things or grabbing someone and dancing around. He was talking to a woman, and she was talking _back_, and she was_ flirting_ him. It was a little intimidating, but he knew the right response. "I can help?" It came out sounding more nervous than he wanted, but less exultant than he was afraid of.

Behri's eyes rounded, then she beamed and nodded a little. "Okay." She turned slightly, then paused, waiting for him. As he stepped up, she began to lead on. "So, Fives. You must travel a lot?"

His smile was so bright it could have powered the city.

* * *

_(Lord have mercy on this land of mine  
We all gonna get it in due time  
I don't belong here  
I don't belong there  
I've even stopped believing in prayer)_

Behri seemed to know half the crowd. The half she didn't, she got to know, and Fives found himself being introduced to large numbers of people from more walks of life than he'd ever known existed. Most of them were blue-collar workers, laborers the unions called out to support the protest. Taxes weren't just being applied to daily necessities such as food imports – heavy taxes of raw materials coming into the planet were making it hard for companies to buy the weight they needed to produce enough high-quality refined durasteel. It meant less work, and eventually more layoffs.

Different people pressed food on him, and after a couple hours of walking around, he began to understand the bright atmosphere. Behri generally introduced him as a small time freight runner, working independently. People saw him as an average laborer not unlike themselves, and was welcomed in. They were supporting each other in the hard times, hoping to support each other in the hard times to come – and avoid those hard times if possible. And so friends and even families gathered, calling for change.

The more he walked around, the more he liked Behri. She was open, friendly in a way he wasn't used to with those who were not brothers, and talked passionately about changing things peacefully, now that the Empire had ended the war. He bit his tongue repeatedly, as she talked about the changes the Empire could bring. He'd wanted to believe the Empire was just another name for the Republic in the beginning. The months since he'd left had changed his mind too thoroughly. He worried for his brothers. Behri would be disappointed in her dreams. He only hoped heavy taxes were the worst these people suffered.

It was the likes of her that he and his brothers had fought for. Good people who wanted good lives. He was happy to meet some of them. This was who they fought and bled for. Maybe there hadn't been much choice about it, but these people were worth protecting. People – brothers _and_ ordinary folk – deserved to be happy.

"Thank you," Behri was saying, taking her datapad back from a woman who had just signed. She smiled at Fives, then looked over her list. "We've gotten a lot of names. I really hope this helps."

"Me too," he replied, skeptical, but hoping for her sake. The crowd seemed to be much like her. Hopeful for the future. It was remaining calm if festive. They'd wandered further in, into the bottleneck of streets that led to the landing platforms, and there were competing protest slogans being bandied back and forth, almost like a competition to see who could be louder.

"Do you want to take a break? Find somewhere to sit?" she asked, looking around, peering through the mass of bodies.

Fives tried to think of what next. The day was wearing on, and he should check in soon. He strained upward and spotted an empty area off to a side near an intersection. "This way."

Behri reached out and grabbed the crook of his arm, ducking around people as he led. As they headed towards the wall, a wave seemed to move through the crowd, catching their attention and giving them pause. They turned and looked up. A large transport ship hovered in the air, almost uncertainly, visible above the rooftops. Heat rippled from exhaust vents below, and a burst of warmth moved across the area.

"That must be Governor Tarkin's ship," Behri said, excitedly, shaking his arm a little as she bounced in place. "The landing platforms are covered in people. That's got to catch some notice. They'll have to pay some attention to us now."

Fives didn't know much about Tarkin. He did know he shouldn't be close to the landing platforms when they did eventually touch down. The last thing he needed was to be recognized as a clone. And a clone in civvies was likely a deserter or traitor. He shuddered at the thought. Behri turned towards him, feeling him tense.

"Are you alright?"

He looked at her, then the hovering ship. If they landed and she was with him if he got caught, she could be in trouble. "I've got to go."

"What? Why? This is what we've been waiting for."

Fives was trying not to look at her, and instead was watching the hovering ship. Some bad feeling began to roll through his gut. Why weren't they finding another platform to land on? A clear platform to land on? His brothers piloting that thing weren't so inefficient. "Behri," he said, grabbing her hand and beginning to tug her away, coherent thought not fully formed, only a rising sense of dread. "Behri?"

"What? Fives, what are you doing? Where are we going?" He pulled. Something was wrong. Were they going to open fire? "Fives, stop it, we're going the wrong way!" She tried to yank her hand back, but he had it in a hard grip and was hauling her along, pushing past people.

The crowd was surging forward, everyone standing. Fists pumped in the air, and the various chants began to merge into one. Voices roiled like thunder down the platforms, down the streets, across the plaza they emerged back into, vibrating off the walls of buildings, pounding, pounding.

Then the ship descended.

The chant became a hundred screams, punctuating a sudden, gasping silence.

It began almost slowly, as here and there, people began to turn, to run. Then the hundred screams became several thousand, and a flood of shrieks swelled upward. The crowd broke into a mob; chaos and fear took over, everyone running wildly. Some rushed forward, out of the plaza and down the street toward the platforms. Others rushed away, funneling through the streets, desperately trying to escape. Bodies slammed into each other. The ground vibrated under the sudden rush of stampeding feet.

There was no shyness now. He pulled her against him, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pushed her head down, keeping them in step as they ran. Behri was screaming something incoherent with each stride forward, an arm slung around his back as she huddled against him. She stumbled and he kept her up, kept them from being trampled. He shoved a shoulder forward, using his weight to muscle through knots. They kept running. Hovercams sped past them in the air. Distantly, he hoped this was being beamed galaxy-wide, live.

His communicator was going off. Ahsoka's voice was calling, "_Fives? Fives! I know you're alive, come in!_"

"Go for Fives, half klick east of platform, heading out."

"_Fall back to the breakfast cafe. We'll regroup and bang out. Echo?_"

"Not with me. On my way!"

There was a hum from above. Police in riot gear were speeding in on hoverbikes. He hoped they were there to help channel people out rather than work containment. He ducked down, brought them around a corner. The tide of people was dispersing as they got further into the city. He could hear Behri crying. Sirens were wailing in the distance, and they kept moving, though more slowly.

"I dropped my datapad," she said numbly. "I dropped it. Someone stepped on it. Nothing, it was all for nothing. They weren't even going to listen…" her voice rose and broke into a sob.

"Come on," he urged quietly. She nodded, followed along in silence, didn't let him go.

It seemed like a different day when the four of them set out that morning. The café was still open, though the few tables outside were empty. People were watching a holonet report inside. The alarmed reporter was shouting about potential casualties and speculating there had been some sort of malfunction in the ship – deliberate landing on top of unarmed civilians was unthinkable.

He pulled her into the alley beside the restaurant. She turned in toward him, buried her face in his shoulder, and he found himself pressed against a cloud of strawberry colored hair. Her voice rose in confused litany. "They did it on purpose. They did it on _purpose_. Why? I don't understand. I don't understand! Why did they _do_ this?"

Awkwardly, he tried to pat her back, looking in the direction they came. The men on the ship had to know what they'd just done. Fresh anger rose. Who had ordered this? Tarkin. Behri said the man coming was named Tarkin. They weren't even a military target. His brothers had been ordered to crush civilians. Did that man think intimidating civilians was going to get obedience? He grit his teeth. Why not? Intimidating his brothers got obedience.

Behri was still crying, but there was anger there now, too. She was shaking, not just out of fear, but fury. Her hands went over her face. "I had friends there. They won't get away with this. They won't get away with this! They did it on purpose! That was a controlled landing, and _they did it on purpose!_"

"Behri, you have to quiet down," Fives began, but was cut off.

"Quiet? Quiet! I will not be quiet!" she wiped at her eyes. She looked frantic. "They…you saw what they did! I know a lot of the people there, a lot of them come in to work at lunch! I serve them food! I don't know who was on the platform, but they were people, and they just…they just _landed_, like they weren't even there!" Her hands dug into her hair, then pressed against her mouth, dried her eyes, covered her face. "Landed like they were nothing."

"The Empire does not like people who disagree with them. You have got to get quiet. You can't fight them by yourself." He shook her lightly. "Calm down and think. If they're willing to do that to anyone, think of them doing it to you, too."

She scowled at him momentarily, looked down, but nodded. She sniffled once, wiped at her face again. It was blotchy and red. She made herself small, shoulders hunching together, head ducking down. She twisted her hands into the fabric of her long skirt. Her voice was brittle, and she leaned against him, seeking some human contact as reassurance. "Thank you. For getting me out of there."

"You're welcome." He found himself reddening again as he cautiously held her, and tried to fight off the nerves, excitement of the feeling, jumbled in with everything else. This wasn't the time.

"Fives!" an identical voice called out, and he looked up to see the Captain and the Commander heading across the street to join them. He looked down the street. Another figure was jogging steadily their way. Echo.

Behri was wide eyed, looking between him and Rex. Her head was angled to the side, curiously, a finger slowly raising, to move between the two of them. Her brow furrowed. "Twins?" she asked, sounding uneasy.

He exchanged a glance with Rex, then with the Commander, who was moving forward as though to intervene. "Hello," she began quickly, but was interrupted by Echo's arrival.

Behri drew backward, looking from Fives to Rex to Echo. She was growing slowly alarmed. Her mouth opened to say something, then closed as she pulled back on herself, paling. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. "I have to go," she said abruptly, backing away.

"Wait," Fives started, but felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder. Rex shook his head. Behri had turned and was hurrying off. He felt a smaller hand pat his other shoulder, and looked down to see Ahsoka giving him a sympathetic look. He sighed, watched her turn at the end of the street and look back for a long moment, green eyes meeting his, the expression on her face unreadable in its distress.

Then she broke into a run.

* * *

_(Oh but this whole country is full of lies  
You're all gonna die and die like flies  
- I don't trust you anymore!)_

Fives was moping.

He didn't really like moping, but he couldn't cheer up either. The events on Ghorman were disturbing and depressing in a great many ways, some more personal than others. He worried about his brothers on the ship. He worried about the people he met earlier that day. He worried about Behri.

They'd all been following reports. They'd been confused at first, but were settling down. Hundreds of casualties and injuries.

A cup of caf appeared on the table. "If you're going to be up all night, you might as well get some caffeine in you," Ahsoka said as she set it down, seating herself on the chair beside him. "You going to be alright?"

"You think the brothers on that ship are alright?"

Ahsoka's eyes lowered. "No."

He hung his head. "No wonder people think we're no better than droids."

"You are _not_ a droid," she snapped. He glared at the cup of caf.

"She was scared of me. Of us. When she saw us. She knew."

Ahsoka was giving him a careful look. "I don't know. She was scared, but I don't think it was of you. Or Rex or Echo. She was in shock."

He scowled at the table. "Brothers would have been piloting that thing, and it was dropped onto her people from the sky."

He ran his hands though his unkempt hair. It had grown shaggy in the months since desertion. Ahsoka set a hand onto his shoulder, leaned forward, and gave him a light peck on his temple. He froze, then looked up at her as she stood. She was smiling benignly down at him. It was a strange sight. Familial, almost maternal in nature. Echo once said Ahsoka was like a little sister. A little sister who could pull rank and do freaky things with her mind. Fives had never quite gotten that feeling until now. Sisterly. Though perhaps not a younger one.

"You did good, Fives. Be glad of that, at least," she said, then headed into the galley. Slowly, he felt himself begin to calm. He did have brothers up here. Ones who were safe. And some sort of powerful, bossy sister looking out for him. They were doing what they could. It was why they were there that day. Their recordings of what was being broadcasted from Ghorman would be sent with the rest of their reports back to Alderaan. Even if the Empire did try to cover up the massacre, word would get out. It was something. Maybe not what he wanted, but it was something. Behri had been angry. She wouldn't want a cover up. He could help prevent that.

Rex walked into the room, barefoot and in the loose clothes he wore as pajamas. He was sipping the dregs from a cup of caf. He stepped up behind Ahsoka, lightly placed his hand on the small of her back. She turned a little, then angled aside, letting him put his mug into the sink. Echo emerged from the cockpit, wandering through and stretching his arms over his head, announcing, "I sent the signal on to Alderaan. I'm going to crash. 'Night everyone."

Fives twisted enough in his seat to watch all this. Familial. His family. Not just thousands of brothers, but a small family, a unit. Even after tragedy, life still somehow went on, absurdly normal in most ways. It wasn't altogether different from after battle. Get back, get comfortable, get fixed up, get some food, try to sort themselves out. He wondered if the people on Ghorman were doing the same. They had to be. Life went on.

He had held a girl's hand today, for the first time. In spite of everything, it was one small bit of happiness. An experience so many brothers didn't ever have.

"Good night," Rex and Ahsoka chorused back, then seemed to exchange a glance. Rex shrugged and gestured, Ahsoka's lekku made a small twitch. She headed out of the room and he began putting glasses into their small washer.

Fives lowered his eyes and turned away.

* * *

Shorter version of Fives this chapter: Can't. Brain. Girl. Pretty. Heroics! XD

We never really get to see any of the clones interact with normal girls much, so I really wanted a chapter where at least one of them gets to. At this point, Echo and Fives are probably only around twelve-thirteen years old, Rex probably a year older. I can't imagine them having many opportunities to talk to females not in the military (Ahsoka), or involved in their training somehow (teachers or technicians). Possibly a few civilians, but even then probably not often or in a normal setting. Behri, of course, is an OC.

I wanted to do a chapter involving a protest, and while researching on the Wookiepedia, I discovered the Ghorman Massacre, which echoes the events of Tiananmen Square. There were limited details on Ghorman and the massacre itself, so a good deal of this is made up, but Tarkin landing his ship on top of peaceful protesters on Ghorman is canon. The song _Mississippi Goddam _was written by Nina Simone in response to the murder of Medgar Evers and the 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing of 1963.

As always,

~Queen


	9. In the Shadows Where No One Can See

_In the Shadows Where No One Can See_

_They move in the shadows  
where no one can see  
And they're chainin' up people  
and they're bringin' em to me  
askin' me,  
"Kill them NOW, or LATER?"  
Askin' ME!  
"Kill them now, or later?"_

"_Pirate Jenny" – Nina Simone_

* * *

It was so still at the factory.

It was late; the small hours of the morning left the fewest people inside. Technicians, drafters, scientists, engineers were all away for the night. There were a few maintenance droids about, as well as some measures of security. It was the latter that Ahsoka was concerned with. The best way of doing this little operation was the quietest. Rex, Echo and Fives all had positions without, ready to unleash chaos outside if she needed a distraction or a rescue. With a little luck, it wouldn't be necessary.

A guard walked steadily past, below her. Light and shadow cast stripes across her face, thrown from the slats in the grate she was peering through. She could hear his steps fading, pause, shuffle as he turned, then began to walk again, down another hallway.

She raised a hand upward, and watched as the four bolts that held the grate in place slowly began to spin counterclockwise, unscrewing themselves silently. As they slipped out, they began to fall towards the floor. A flick of her fingers, and they floated up through the grate and towards her. She set them aside, looped her fingers through the slats, and pulled the grate up and into the ventilation shaft.

It did not get her the whole way to her destination, but hiding out in the air ducts got her most of the way in, unseen, though she'd had to be careful with the security going through the outer portions. Getting sliced up by a few overzealous lasers was not her idea of fun.

She dropped down silently, the long, brown coat she wore trailing, then settling onto the floor behind her. Ahsoka cast a quick glance behind her, the direction the guard had gone. He radiated dull boredom, the result of repeated rounds of sentry duty and no expected surprises. She made a faint gesture towards her lightsaber, checking for its familiar presence. It did not rest, as it used to, at her hip, but rather in a modified shoulder holster. It had been over a year now, since she could wear it openly; instead, a blaster hung from her right hip, and a vibroblade had taken her lightsaber's place on her side.

It still did not feel natural, and she suspected it never really would. She had, however, grown accustomed to it. Also to the annoying white face paint that altered the markings of her skin, turning her eyelids solid white and her cheeks into white ovals. If caught, it would not take long to identify her as _Ahsoka Tano_, but so long as she was not caught, the small changes would help blur her identity.

She murmured to herself, "Here we go," as she slipped a circuit disruptor over the lock. After a moment, the door slid obediently open, the security measures overridden. It shushed to a close once she was inside the drafting room. She headed for the wall of computers.

Plucking a datastick out of a pocket on her belt, she slipped it into a dataport and began to hack the mainframe. Security from within wasn't so bad; trying to hack from outside the factory's intranet required slicing skills none of them had quite attained – yet. Echo was cheerfully reading every manual he could access. She would grab what information she could, but she mostly wanted any data on the new dual ion engine fighters they'd begun to see accompanying Imperial destroyers. Blowing up the entire factory was tempting, but would bring too much attention, too much security, and not really do much in the end. More fighters could be made elsewhere. Technical specs would be more useful. It would help if there were weaknesses in the design, but mostly it would be beneficial to be up to speed on the technology. Imperial enemies would be able to use the developments to create fighters of their own.

In and out. Nice and easy. She was thinking of taking the guys somewhere nice for a few days after this. Somewhere sunny. With good food. It had taken forever to get all the right intel on the factory, get the layout, make sure they could hack through doors and systems quietly, and know what Ahsoka was going to be crawling through to get the specs.

Which was why a hundred curses in a variety of alien languages raced through her head when she heard the door snick open. Some were for whoever was opening the door. The rest were for herself, for not paying enough attention. She should have sensed someone coming.

A guard stood in the doorway, dimly lit from behind. She was in a crouch, caught in the act. The man stood there, as though he did not see her, and seemed to waver a little. Ahsoka looked at him warily. Something was off; she could barely sense him. He was in a daze, hard to read.

A silky voice said, "You need to go check the lower floors. They're very unprotected tonight. It's not safe."

The man blinked once, and said, absently, "I need to go check the lower floors. They're not safe."

Ahsoka lifted a brow. Jedi mind trick. She was either going to find a friendly face or be neck deep in bantha poodoo in about two seconds. Whoever it was, she – the voice was female - was keeping her signature dampened. Ahsoka wasn't sure if it was wiser to pull her blaster, her lightsaber, or nothing at all. Reveal herself as Jedi or try to brazen it out as a mercenary having a bad day. It depended on who appeared. She tensed.

A second figure filled the doorway, all soft grey angles from a dark robe and a hooded head. She made a darkly amused snort, lifted her pale hands, and tipped back her hood.

"Amateur. He could have seen your entry point on a second sweep, brat."

_Lightsaber_. Green plasma erupted from the end of the hilt, illuminating the room in a humming emerald glow, punctuated by small galaxies of computer lights on the walls. Ahsoka bristled, saber in a solid reverse grip and ready to fight.

"Well, if it isn't the hairless harpy herself. Been awhile."

Ventress rolled her eyes and sneered. "You don't have any hair either, you obnoxious little ingrate." She swept further into the room, the door closing quietly behind her.

Ahsoka practically snarled. She almost charged, but Ventress' oddly cool demeanor gave her pause. The Rattataki had not yet pulled her own lightsabers, and in fact seemed quite content to ignore the threat Ahsoka posed. Why was she here? And how? Last anyone had heard of Asajj Ventress, she was a corpse being loaded onto a ship.

Ventress gave Ahsoka's lightsaber a bare glance before turning her attention to the display behind her. "Stealing files from the Empire?" Ventress' lips curled upward into a frosty smile. "How very troublesome of you." Now she turned to look at Ahsoka, and her ice blue eyes seemed to glitter with some emotion – Ahsoka recognized it, after a moment – _satisfaction_.

It was a strange sight. Ventress was not known for her restraint. The insults were familiar, the talking was not. A casual chit-chat before battle wasn't her style. Something had changed. But suspicion, and the memories of dozens of battles, overrode the compulsion to better understand the odd aura that now was pooling around her old adversary.

Ahsoka tightened her grip on her lightsaber. "I won't let you jeopardize my mission."

Ventress gave her a strange look, seemingly both amused and annoyed at the same time. "Your expectations cloud your judgment, brat." She returned her attention to the computers. A datastick appeared in her hand, and she slid it into the port beside Ahsoka's.

It sounded bizarrely like something a Jedi Master would say. Ahsoka fought the urge to let her jaw drop. Ventress was continuing to ignore her, and was simply downloading the same data Ahsoka was onto her own data storage. The entire scene felt weird, even surreal. Ahsoka tried to gather her thoughts together. Ventress had apparently followed her through security, had not attacked her, had even ordered off a guard, and now was stealing specs from the Empire, much as she was.

She tilted her head, and tried to get a clearer reading of the other woman in the Force. She was no longer trying to hide herself; she was unusually open, almost as though inviting the mental probe. Ahsoka couldn't help but mistrust her. Ventress was capable of almost anything. This could easily be a trap of some kind. She kept her saber raised and eyes focused. Ventress held very still, seemingly preoccupied with the computers.

Ahsoka let mind flow along the current of Force that was Ventress. She felt grey, the color of polished durasteel, caught between extremes of dark and light. Where there had been _venom, rage, hate_, there was now a veneer of _control_, of _determination, will, certainty_. They were raw feelings, harsh, but strong. That she was Ventress, there could be no doubt, but there was a shift in the Force around her, a different way of flowing. She seemed now to stand in the calm center of the tempest she was usually twisted in.

A Jedi was not supposed to feel hate. Ventress was one of the few people Ahsoka had struggled not to.

"Why are you here?" she asked, still not willing to relax her guard.

Ventress turned, face cast in the eerie green glow of Ahsoka's lightsaber. "Much the same as you. Espionage."

"I can see that," Ahsoka said, frowning. "But why are you doing it?"

Ventress registered as a swirl of _agitation, disgust_ and more _determination_. She was startlingly easy to sense now, and Ahsoka, with some surprise, began to believe that the other woman was _letting_ her read her so easily. She wanted to be read. To be understood. Ventress seemed to struggle saying the words, "I have grown tired of being _used_. Dooku is dead. His master is not." Her face contorted into a familiar looking twist of rage, then eased slowly, almost as though she had to force herself to control. "And I grow sick of the galaxy as it is."

She turned abruptly away, and there was an immediate clamping down of emotion around her. Still, a faint murmur of _pain-loss_ echoed into the Force before going silent. The openness was gone.

Ahsoka still had her suspicion. But her master had turned to the dark side. Was it possible for someone to turn _away_? She bit her lip. She wanted to believe a dark night of the soul could end.

Her fingers shifted around the hilt of her lightsaber. She lifted one, paused, then flicked the weapon off. The room was plunged back into shadow.

Ventress yanked both of the datasticks out of their ports. She tossed one at Ahsoka, who caught it.

Ice blue eyes met sky blue ones. "I still think you're an obnoxious little brat," Ventress spat.

Ahsoka snorted, but gave her a feral grin. "And I still think you're a harpy. Just so we're clear."

It was the first time Ahsoka saw Ventress give a smile that was not cold.

They turned towards the door, paused, senses reaching beyond it. There was no one nearby. The two women quickly slipped back down the hallway, back through the air vents, back through security measures, one by one, resetting them in silence.

They passed out of the factory's perimeter, and into a maze of sewers. Rainwater dripped down from a grate overhead, and flowed past their feet. Ventress lifted the hood of her cloak back over her head. Ahsoka had a strange urge to thank Ventress for the help she had ended up offering, but knew gratitude would not be welcomed. Ventress resettled her cloak around her, turned, and began to walk away.

"Ventress," Ahsoka said, feeling as though she were taking a great risk. The Rattataki paused, turned slightly, enough for a dim profile of her face to be seen beyond the edge of the hood. Ahsoka bit her lip, took a breath. There was something inexplicably _changed_ about Ventress. And no hint of what she said was a lie. Still, it felt strange, what she was about to offer. She said, "My ship. It's called the _Drake_." She frowned. "If you need anything."

That much should be more than enough information for the assassin to find her again. She only hoped it wouldn't be to hunt her down. Risk. Enormous risk, but if it were true, that she had turned from the dark, enormous hope. She could see Ventress' expression, and it was, for just a moment, surprised. Then she looked away, the cloak hiding her again. She stood still. Ahsoka began to leave, but then Ventress spoke.

"Did he die well?" A beat. "Kenobi."

Ahsoka turned back. Ventress had not moved. It seemed a strange question. "No." There was a barely perceptible stiffening of Ventress' back. She stood slightly straighter. Ahsoka shifted, tilting her head to the side and wondering why it was being asked. Carefully, she added, "He didn't die at all."

There was a stab of something so complex that shot through the Force, Ahsoka could not make sense of it. It was tamped down just as quickly as it appeared.

The dark space was very quiet when Ventress said, "Good. That's good."

And then was gone.

Ahsoka lifted her commlink, turned it on and said, "Fall back guys. I'm on my way up. Let's go home."

* * *

It was a cheap cantina. A cheap, crowded cantina.

A band was playing in a corner, noisily. Smoke drifted in stinking clouds overhead, as members of a dozen different species worked their way around the room or sat in corners. Ahsoka hoped whatever she'd been called out for was worth it. She leaned on the bar, trying to look interested in the amber colored ale sitting before her, and ignore how dirty the glass was. She lifted it to her lips and pretended to drink.

A human man leaned himself against the bar beside her, grinning tipsily and facing her. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, and became very interested in her alcohol, hoping the idiot would just go away.

Of course, he didn't. He began to reach out, aiming for her lekku. "Hey," he said, and as his fingers came close to touching her, she smacked them away and glared.

"Kark off, sleemo," she snarled, revealing predatory teeth.

The man smiled wider, hand reaching out again. "Don't be like that…"

He got about that far before it turned into a yelp of pain. Ahsoka's hand shot out, wrapped around his, flipped his arm over while twisting on his thumb. She jerked the hand upward while pushing back on his wrist. Bones grated against each other while she pressed down on nerve endings. He went down. A few people crowded nearby skittered away in case a fight was about to begin.

"What part of 'kark off, sleemo' sounded like 'please touch' to you?"

He tried to jerk his hand free, but all it did was make the lock tighter. Ahsoka bent his hand back further, causing a wild screech and for him to fall backward from his knees to his ass. She sighed. What was it? The facial markings? Her being small? Did she really look like such an easy target? Sleemo. Did all females have to put up with this? Seriously. She sighed again, looking down at the man as he tried to wriggle his way out of her grip and failed. He flopped around on the floor rather comically. A few snickers and giggles could be heard from those watching.

A voice sounded close to her. "You draw too much attention to yourself."

Ahsoka turned enough to see the hooded figure of Ventress step beside her, head tilted down to watch the struggling man on the floor. She was frowning, a brow raised in distain. The man caught sight of the pale woman, stared for a moment, then turned a ghastly shade of white as he looked between the two.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't know she was with you! I'm sorry!" Ahsoka blinked in surprise, then noticed how the crowd had drawn further back, and a great deal of the cantina had gone silent. Music from the band sputtered and died. The man began yanking on his own arm, desperately trying to get away.

Ventress turned, cloak rippling slightly at the motion. "Come with me," she said, beginning to walk away. A path quickly cleared for her as people scattered.

Ahsoka gave the man a final, irritated glare, and released his hand. He scrambled backward into the legs of a stool, cradling one arm in the other, looking up at her fearfully, entirely sober now.

Ventress led her into an alleyway outside. Music began to slowly strike up again, hesitantly at first, then more normally as the event began to pass. Ahsoka frowned as Ventress turned back to face her. "You're late."

"I was detained," came the reply, and then Ventress tossed something small and dark at her. Ahsoka caught it, turned it over in her palm.

"A datastick? What's on it?"

Ventress shrugged. "Something that interests me little, but I thought you would find useful."

Ahsoka shot her a skeptical look. "You called me all the way out here for this?"

She received a glare. Ahsoka tried to look affronted, lifting her chin and folding her arms.

"As I said, it's something you'll find useful." She glanced around as though somewhat disgusted at their surroundings. A pile of the cantina's garbage sat not far from them, giving off a most unpleasant odor. A bit of dull light slashed across the alley from the cracked open doorway.

Ahsoka jerked her head towards the cantina. "You seem popular."

A familiar, wicked smile curled up the lips of Ventress' face. She put on an almost pompous air. "They understand my charm."

Ahsoka snorted once with laughter, then caught herself. It still felt bizarre, talking to Ventress instead of trying to not get herself killed. Her mouth twisted into a deliberate frown, not wanting to suggest a state of companionability. They seemed, for the time being at least, more or less on the same side, but it was an uncomfortable truce, to Ahsoka at least. She tucked the proffered datastick into a pocket on her belt.

There was a scream in the night. It was not from the cantina, but in the distance, and it was laced with fear. Ahsoka took several steps forward, down the alley. "A fight?" She paused, looked back at Ventress, who was staring out towards the sky in the direction of the sound, still with a faint kind of grin on her face.

She told her, evenly, "I suggest you leave quickly, brat. Either that, or stay in the cantina until it's over. It's one of the safe locations."

"What's happening?" The words were followed by a distant rumble, the ground trembling underfoot for a moment. It happened a second time, closer, further to the west. It was not the steady drumming of cannon, but it was the distant blasting thrum of ordinance detonating. A third blast boomed in the distance. Over the tops of roofs, streams of smoke began to form, blotting out the sky. A siren picked up, wailing in the night. "What have you done?"

"I lit a match," Ventress said. "And gave a little guidance. There seems to be none. Perhaps they'll survive the night."

"You started a rebellion?" Ahsoka stared, shocked.

"No. I merely gave one a focus. Direction." Ventress looked at her, hard. "They still will not succeed. One group on one planet is not enough. But it is a start, and it must begin somewhere."

A part of Ahsoka wanted to be horrified. There was another detonation, another explosion. Lives were being stamped out. They guttered through the Force and were gone. Another part of her knew this was the only way of striking back at the Empire. They were outgunned, outmatched, overwhelmed. This was a scream of defiance. Still, a small group, a small cell. Buildings being destroyed in the night, unwarned, outside of battle. It would be called terrorism by the Empire. She shuddered.

Ventress moved back towards the door and waited. The cantina had quieted again, as the ground shook. There was something akin to pity on her face as she looked at the young Togruta. "This isn't your kind of fight. Noble heroics and daring deeds." She seemed sad. "Your hands are better kept clean."

The door was held open. Quiet talking could be heard inside, fearful talking, whispers. Ahsoka shook her head, looked up at Ventress. She gleamed with _determination, sorrow, certainty_.

"Doing what is necessary," Ahsoka managed, quietly, unsure of how she meant it. She could not share in the certainty. The faith that such actions were right. Or wrong. She squeezed her eyes shut. The Empire would retaliate, doing what they thought was necessary. It would not end. She looked to Ventress, then away, left unsure. "I'll head back to my ship."

As she ran, she did not hear a voice behind her say, "May the Force be with you."

* * *

It was a list.

Names scrolled across the computer screen, and it took the four of them only a few seconds to recognize what it was of, once the datastick's files were unloaded into their computer.

Ahsoka's name was on it. So was Obi-Wan's. They were both marked as dead. Yoda was marked as missing. Other names, names of those not yet even in the Order, scrolled by. Dead, dead, dead. Missing, dead. Dead. _At large_.

There were not many, but there were some.

"Survivors," Ahsoka breathed.

* * *

If anyone is interested in having the songs to this fic, I've uploaded them online. If you'd like the link to them, please drop me a line and I'd be happy to send it along.

This chapter was another hard one. I love Ventress as an antagonist, and really wanted to bring her back – she's a great foil for Ahsoka. It would have been fun writing this chapter from Ventress' point of view, I think, as well as Ahsoka's, to try to explain her behavior. Nina Simone's _Pirate Jenny_ really has that dark, eerie feeling I associate with Ventress, and a kind of wicked ambiguity in its morality. It's always difficult writing characters for the first time, so hopefully she's in character.

Hope you enjoyed.

~Queen


	10. Or You Can Do What You're Told

_Or You Can Do What You Are Told_

_I've seen your heads hiding 'neath blankets of fear,  
When the paths they are plain and the choices are clear,  
But with each passing day, boys, the cost is more dear,  
For these are the days of decision._

_'Days of Decision' - __Phil Ochs_

_

* * *

_

CT-26-1409 slid himself into the training module, in perfect synch with his brothers.

He slipped on the helmet resting on the console, the visor covering his eyes and resting somewhat uncomfortably on the bridge of his nose. It pressed too hard. The helmet felt too big, and he reached up to balance it while groping for the gun that was set beside the helmet. He slipped little fingers onto the trigger, and aimed it blindly at the transparasteel screen in front of him.

There was a whirr, and a gruff voice announced, "Begin exercise."

The world behind the visor burst into colorful, virtual life. He looked down at his hands, which were filled with a detailed, if vaguely cartoonish DC-15, not the plastic, white toy actually in his hands. He bent forward. Brothers winged out to his right. He was in the leftmost module. He hurried to keep up. The vee-formation became more of a ragged huddle as they surged forward, then broke into two smaller groups, ducking behind a break in the terrain and a busted up AT-TE walker as red blaster bolts erupted into a shower overhead.

CT-26-1409 lay down cover fire as CT-26-1405 and CT-26-1410 edged forward and tried to find a breach in the artificially created droid defenses. He concentrated his fire and aimed carefully, though it was only the second shot that hit the biggest droid in the head, sending it shooting sparks out of its neck. It keeled over with a thud then poofed out of existence.

Two more were taken down; the squad rushed forward into the gap, firing as they went. Gray droids vanished as they worked their way though. They had to get to the extraction point at the end of the exercise. That was the goal. The terrain changed; the plains gave way to woods, and they took to darting between and behind trees.

CT-26-1409 was determined not to be afraid. He knew what was coming. He could hear it at night, when they curled up into their bunks. He would pull a blanket over his head, tightly, to try to block out the sounds. He preferred the quiet. The quiet classes of testing flash-taught regs and strategy were more enjoyable than this. And this would be better than what they would all soon be subjected to. His brothers were scared too, in their own ways. CT-26-1408, CT-26-1407 and CT-26-1410 liked to sit up and tell stories. They were repetitive and simplistic, usually elaborated, heroic versions of exercises they'd done that day, with big parties at the end, filled with sweets they'd only heard of existing. The stories only stopped when the rattling of the walls did. That's how he knew they were just trying to ignore the noise too, and didn't mind them keeping him awake.

It was too quiet in the simulation. He could hear his own breathing. CT-26-1406 jogged ahead several steps, peered out from behind a tree, then alerted them, "Minefield."

Twinges of fear. They moved a little closer to each other for a moment, in thoughtless unity and support. Breathing became regulated. CT-26-1405 took the lead as he often did. They moved forward, displays within their helmets scanning frantically. It was no fun 'dying' in one of these exercises, opening your eyes to a disappointed sergeant and a feeling of disoriented nausea. It didn't happen often anymore. There was only the most slender of margins for error, and even that little net would be gone in time. They had to be perfect. Only perfection kept you alive. Perfection and obedience to the rules lain out for you.

"Clear!" came the call from CT-26-1406. He should be a scout, CT-26-1409 decided. He always was in their group. It was a good job. Tricky and risky, but not usually right smack in the line of fire. He tried to have as good eyes and pay attention as much. CT-26-1405 might get an officer's rank someday. He always made himself a big Commander with special armor with cool red stripes when he joined in the stories. CT-26-1409 just hoped he'd be somewhere he could curl up quietly. It could be small. A rack, a warm blanket, and something to read. Maybe he should hope to work operations on a ship. Steady work, complex systems. It could be interesting. It wasn't up to him though. All in all, he hoped whatever happened, he'd have some friends. He probably wouldn't be with these brothers.

They were all getting tired. Audio between their helmets let CT-26-1409 hear his brothers breathing. It was less steady, less deep, more raspy. He licked his lips and tried to breathe normally. They were slogging through a marsh now. CT-26-1405 was trying to take point. "_You all decanted after me_," he declared one day, "_So I'm the oldest_." He liked playing big brother, even to the point of getting knocked around the most by the training exercises. He'd be a good Commander if he didn't get himself killed. He held up an arm, fist clenched. They paused.

CT-26-1406 and CT-26-1408 saw it at the same time and let up a yell. They dropped into formation. CT-26-1409 put his back to theirs and watched their rear as they let loose a volley. He knew he should look up the name of the creature bearing down on all of them, but he was too worried to look away and access his helmet's database. Sometimes non-sentients hunted in packs, and he was too jumpy to look away as his brothers shot it down. It was worse to get attacked from behind than not know the right name for the big monster trying to eat you. He'd look up the right name later and memorize it. Then he could just know it on sight.

They continued on. He tried not to shake. They had to be close to the end of the exercise. It felt like a few minutes, but it was probably at least half an hour, more likely three quarters of one.

A ship came into view, nestled between several large boulders and the downward slope of a hill. Tall grass rippled like a skirt around it. It was charging up its' drive. A trooper in armor was waving at them.

They were still careful. Sometimes they could rush across the field. Sometimes there were mines or other surprises.

Fire came from behind. They turned as a unit and returned fire, running backwards as they tried to reach the extraction point. CT-26-1407 stumbled, went down. CT-26-1410 and CT-26-1409, a step behind him, lowered in unison. CT-26-1410 pulled him to his feet. CT-26-1409 covered them. CT-26-1407 scrambled a few steps forward, twisted, then joined them in returning fire.

One by one, they pounded up the plank into the ship, each taking a turn covering the others.

The doors closed, and there was a sensation of being lifted upward. The group of boys looked at each other. They'd all made it. A couple of them bounced a little on their feet, and CT-26-1405 clapped a couple of them on the back, the way the sergeants did sometimes when they did good. Together, they reached up and lifted off their helmets.

CT-26-1409 was back in the training module. He was drenched with sweat. He set the fake blaster and helmet back onto the console, just as he'd found them. Another group would be coming in soon.

It was a relief that it went well. Even the minor stumble at the end had been quickly corrected. They had to be perfect. Two weeks. Live ordinance in two weeks. Then there was no waking up from stumbling or mistakes then.

CT-26-1409 was not quite three years old.

* * *

The ruin was a checkerboard of bombed out squares.

Figures moved across the openings, of places once corridors and rooms, now chiaroscuro shapes against darker places. Heavy durasteel cables, corroded with rust, protruded from walls like spindly fingers, the reinforced duracrete having been shorn in places. There was rubble in corners and across the dusty entranceway. Little bits of light flickered within, sometimes pale white from an electric lantern, sometimes fragile red-orange from a tiny fire. They warded off the oncoming night.

Echo adjusted his cloak and kept the battered old helmet on his head, visor low. This planet had seen enough clones these past few months; it would be unwise to be recognized as one, though the year and more since the fall of the Republic and rise of the Empire had allowed him to change his appearance as much as he wished. His hair had grown long and messy. He found he liked it as such, and kept it pulled roughly back. For this search, he'd let himself get scruffy. Unshaved for two days, a bit of dirt smudged on his cheeks and a deceivingly hollow eyed look made him seem more the poor drifter than brave veteran. He shuffled along, hands in coat pockets, fighting the urge to be shocked.

It was far from the first time he'd seen refugees. But they were usually running from battles, or being escorted to safe places where tent cities sprang up and relief supplies were doled out. Sometimes they were even on their way back into cities that had been recovered, as Ryloth had been. The people who had taken up tenancy in this decimated factory had no such assistance, and all had a gaunt, half-starved look about them.

It made him angry, and strangely ashamed. There was nothing he could do. There was no way to rescue all these people. They were refugees in their own world, worn down by the grindstone of war. He was doing what good he could, but it didn't feel like enough at times. He kept his chin down, eyes sharp. Eyes met his, glittering from the little lights they sat around, peering out from the rising dark, questioning, then determining he was no threat and returning to their business. He wandered, appearing aimless, descending a level. Light was even rarer here, as were people. Only a few groups were scattered around. A family was huddled around a tiny fire in one corner, hands raised to their mouths. They had some food. It was dinnertime.

Echo looked to the other corners, farther. Cautiously, he approached one. A swath of ripped fabric served as a partial partition against the rest of the place. It glowed yellow from firelight.

Sadness radiated from the entire population of the place, or so Ahsoka said, making it hard to distinguish individual signatures, a shifting sea of sorrow, despair and hunger. They were not scattered far, but to cover more ground, they separated. Each of them had taken a building on the block. He was somewhere in here.

Echo frowned. This could be tricky. He wished he had the Force powers Ahsoka did. At this range, she would have known for sure. Randomly poking his head in might cost him his head, if he disturbed someone he shouldn't. He pulled a small flask from his coat pocket, took a sip, and kept it in hand. He spat it back out, the liquid burning his tongue. Rotgut whiskey still managed to get around in hard times, a cheap escape if a temporary one. A stupid drunk looking for somewhere to sleep off an encroaching hangover was far less threatening than an alert, sober man. He tipped himself to the side, staggered forward a little, and angled around the curtain.

Dark, honey brown eyes looked up. They met his, and matched his. _Found you._ He straightened himself, held up his free hand in what he hoped looked like a peaceful gesture.

It was not taken as such. The man's eyes were the same as his, but they shared the empty look of the other refugees. Several weeks' worth of fuzz stood on end from his scalp and jaw. He did not move, did not look surprised, did not greet him. Only sat huddled on a crate, swathed in a musty blanket. He said, "Make it fast."

The phrasing took him aback; then understanding clicked. He resisted a strange sickness in his belly. Had it come to such things? Brothers turned against each other? If so, how long had it been such a way? "I'm not here to kill you."

It earned him a flicker of interest, but was quickly dulled. Shadows leapt as a bit of draft stirred through. Echo edged himself a little closer, slowly, slowly knelt down until he was sitting across the fire. Still, the other man did not move, but kept silent watch on him.

"I'm Echo," he said by way of introduction. Eyes narrowed in response. He tried to prod a little more information. "You're Waxer." A pause. "I take it you don't like small talk."

He received a look of thoughtful suspicion. "What do you want?"

To the point. He could deal with that. "To get you out."

The suspicious look only grew. "Why?"

"You like sitting around here?"

"Maybe I love it. Great weather, lots of space to spread out." A hand emerged from the shaggy blanket he was wrapped in. It waved vaguely at their surroundings. The standard issue black bodysuit he wore was filthy, and growing threadbare. No armor. But there was a helmet. It was half under the blanket at his feet, not quite hidden. The shape was strange, different. The familiar black t-slit was gone, replaced by black, bulging oval eyepieces. Waxer noticed his interest. The blanket flipped back into place and he pushed it further away with a heel. "How?" he demanded.

Echo shrugged. "Did I find you? Been looking around for awhile," he said, not being specific. If he agreed to go, he'd see Ahsoka soon enough, but until that happened, the existence of the Jedi remained secret. She was how they had narrowed it down locally. Knowing what planet, what city, was another matter. "And you had a concerned Commander with some good transponder codes, because my Captain's got a big bleeding heart." He offered the flask. Waxer looked at it warily, hesitantly reached out. Then he snatched it.

Once he got some in his mouth, he gagged. "What the kriff is _in_ that?"

Echo grinned. He'd gotten through, for a moment at least. "No idea. It's just part of the whole slumming look. Picked it up locally. You've been here longer, what's the usual local crop?"

Waxer made a face and didn't reply. Then, he asked, "Water?"

Echo carefully reached into his coat, pulling it open enough for the other man to see him reach for his bottle, rather than the blaster a few inches below it. He held it out, and Waxer took it, unscrewing the cap and sipping, then draining it. He lowered the bottle, then looked Echo over. The messiness seemed to register as feigned. Echo was well fed, still looked strong, his eyes were clear, face free of desperation or exhaustion or madness.

"You're not with the Empire."

"No."

Fingers, dirty knuckled, crept out from where they kept the blanket pulled tightly, tugged it a little closer. Then he slowly, with deliberation, reached down, pulled up another bit of cloth, and opened it. A bit of bread sat inside. He picked it up and held it out to Echo. It was stale; what should have been a light, baked, golden brown had turned faded and dull. Echo took it, broke it in half, and handed the other half back to Waxer. It was a quiet statement. This was his home, and a gesture of welcome as much as it could be. Also, he would not be beholden to Echo for the water or anything else. There was some measure of pride there, still. Despite the wretched surroundings and worn face, Waxer was not broken. It was a relief.

"Since when?"

Echo shrugged, broke off a bit of the bread and made himself eat it. It was dry almost to being sandy. It crumbled a bit his hands. "Order 66. Everything went to hell when it went out. Ended up following the Captain around. Nothing better to do."

It would be considered the official moment he deserted, an obvious marker, a specific day and a specific reason. In truth, desertion had taken much longer. It was a process, of doubt and fear and disgust and wrongness clambering around until there was a reason for it to all to boil to a head. And it had been lanced several times. Order 66 had been the first time. Naboo had been another. Yet again at Ghorman. Days of desire to go back to the way things were crept along until they faded away and Echo understood there was nothing to go back to. Home had been demolished and replaced with something else. And by then he had another home, another family, to think about. One smaller and more immediate.

He asked, "You?"

Waxer's face was gray, even in the cheerful red light of the fire. It cast deep shadows into his face, darkening the hollows and caverns of brows, cheekbones, neck. He munched down onto the stale bread. "I walked off a battlefield." His head turned slightly, towards the opening leading outside. This planet. "I'm not even sure why we were here. There were rumors about hiding Jedi, and some sort of resistance, but I never saw any. There was resistance, though. _After_ we got here." He snorted, hung his head, chewed and swallowed. "Some civilians got involved. Didn't know how to fight but they tried." He stopped. Emotions flickered over his face, and he seemed to grope for a way of continuing. He skipped over some part of the telling, beginning again with, "I left my armor out. Shot it a few times, tossed it around near some bodies. Then I walked. Been here since. Thought I'd gone unnoticed, 'til now."

"You didn't think anyone would miss you?" Plenty of men died on the field and got left behind in the chaos, but usually someone would witness them go down. At least try to know who was gone to let other brothers, friends, know about the death if they were elsewhere when it happened. Discovering an empty bunk the night after a battle wasn't considered the best way of announcing a death.

Waxer watched the fire. "Almost everyone's dead or crazy." He winced. "It's not hard to get yourself shot if you want to be. Too many are going that way." He bowed his head in remembrance. "Even old friends. There's new men to replace them." Amber eyes flicked up to meet Echo's. "But they're not the same. Brothers, but not like us." He tapped a finger to the side of his head. "They're different up here. Don't _think_." He balled a fist and struck it against his knee. "Not for themselves, anyway. Just do what they're told and don't use their sense. Influx started after the Order went out."

"Centax II. Cloning facilities were discovered there, run under Arkanian Micro."

Waxer muttered something that sounded like a curse.

Laughter interrupted them. A couple of kids had stood from the family across the floor, and were chasing each other around. They were Sullustan. A human boy stood up from one of the other huddles and ran over. As Echo and Waxer watched, they broke into a wild game of tag. Faces from other groups glanced up to watch. Echo turned back toward Waxer. Some longing was kindled in his eyes, and Echo looked back towards the children. Clones didn't have families. There was no life outside the army. Not for someone within it, at least. A little Bothan girl had joined them and was making faces at the human. They both laughed, then tore off across the room.

Life goes on. Echo turned back. Waxer abruptly lowered his head and watched the fire.

It would be foolish for Waxer to stay here. Even if Cody hadn't told anyone else, and Waxer was safely out of the Imperial Army, there was nothing here for him. Almost no food, bad water, and fear excluding him from other groups, though it was possible the isolation would pass in time. The choice seemed clear enough. It was only a matter of being sure he saw it that way.

"You can't save them all."

Waxer looked up at him. "I know. They still deserve better."

Echo chuckled and said, tone laced with irony, "Don't we all?" Waxer watched him, then gave a faint nod. Echo stood. "Come on. We'll get you some food, and tell you all about your different retirement options." He added, carefully, watching for a reaction, "Unless you like kids."

His face remained neutral, but there was a flavor of curiosity to his voice. "Kids?"

"Got a whole bunch of younglings back home." He grinned. It'd been a month since they'd last stopped at Alderaan. "Pesky group, swarm all over you looking for candy when you visit."

Waxer smiled for a moment, then grew serious. "_Special_ younglings."

Echo's face matched Waxer's. He understood. "Very special."

"I see."

Waxer seemed to fidget for a moment. Then he stood, wincing as a knee went out. He tried to balance, holding himself up with the other leg. He minced forward a step, then another, shedding the blanket. Then he bent down, picked up the blaster that was behind the crate, and the strange new helmet that had been at his feet.

He looked at it for a moment, the bulbous black eyes staring back at him. Then he took it, and shoved it bucket-down onto the fire. Electronics caught, sparked and sizzled, letting off a metallic smoke that steamed out of broken eyepieces. The light went out.

Echo stepped aside, and Waxer limped heavily into line with him.

"Let's get out of here."

* * *

Another chapter not completely linear. CT-26-1409 is Echo as a kid. There's not a lot of information on how the training of the clone troopers was conducted, though Karen Traviss gives a little bit on how the commandos were. She has clones starting live fire experience at two chronological years old. I'm imagining they're two, almost three, because honestly I can't even envision a (biological) four year old holding a gun. Not that a six year old is any better. (Except perhaps in terms of fine motor skills.) The simulation, numbering, and grouping are all my own speculation.

~Queen


	11. The World Upon Your Shoulders

_The World Upon Your Shoulders_

_And any time you feel the pain, Hey Jude, refrain  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
By making his world a little colder_

'_Hey, Jude' – The Beatles_

_

* * *

_

Yavin IV felt different than the others.

It was no one specific thing. Over the last several weeks, Ahsoka, Rex, Echo and Fives had been doing preliminary scans of planets without Imperial presence, but in sectors and systems of potential strategic importance. A war against the Empire was still years off; it was possible there would never even be one. But a foundation must be laid. Rebellions did not grow up overnight, but in fits and starts and with cautious, wary guidance.

Ahsoka had seen enough habitable planets and moons since the survey began to make her dizzy. They seemed to blend together, spending only a day or two exploring. A jungle, then a temperate zone, then a desert, then an ice planet. Another jungle, a woodland with tall deciduous trees making a riot of color in the cooling months, a subtropical shell-scattered beach. More desert. And now yet another jungle world.

It was different somehow. She wandered idly, pausing here and there throughout the ruins they'd found. Echo had mentioned that the ziggurat was in reasonable shape for being so old. There were even areas that looked like they might have once served as hangar bays on the lower levels, ages ago, though now the stonework was broken and covered in jungle flora.

She wondered if she was just being paranoid. It reminded her too much of the world where they had all been when Order 66 had gone out, a lifetime ago. The steep caverns, the pressing humidity, the smell of dirt and plants. Of stagnant water, of decaying foliage, but also the burgeoning life growing out of it.

Leaping lightly over a pile of stone rubble, Ahsoka continued climbing the stairway. Shafts of light breaking through the uppermost level caught her attention. She turned towards it. What had once been a pair of great doors were now fallen from their hinges, the wood rotted and black with age and mildew.

Light glanced down from cracks in the ceiling, striking the ground like dusty fingers. Moss and vines covered the floor, hung down the walls like carpets and drapes. Bright, spindly petaled flowers sprung up in little crevasses in the floor, pale pinks and lavenders and yellows. A couple of large insects buzzed across the open space, darting in repeated, circular patterns. Crystalline wings glittered in the sunlight. A third darted upward as she stepped forward, hummed around her for a second, then landed on her shoulder. It flicked its wings. She stared at it, unsure if it was poisonous or not. Multifaceted eyes seemed to catch prism colors. It was striped a dangerous looking black and yellow down its thorax and abdomen. It clung tightly to the fabric of her coat. She tilted her head, watching it, then lightly lifted a hand and prodded it with a finger.

It burst into flight and darted off towards one of the still pools of rainwater that were collected on the ground.

Ahsoka looked around the room again, and tried to imagine it without all the encroaching nature. Long, rectangular. High ceilings. Flat, paved stone floors. Carved columns of stone. A raised pavilion at the end of the rectangle.

It was an audience chamber.

She stepped further into the room, carefully. The view from this height would be spectacular, if the floor was still solid enough for walking on. She paused, knelt down with the tips of her lekku brushing the floor, closed her eyes. The stone had been hewn ages ago, but it was still rock, still breathing with the Force. She set a pair of fingers down against the cool, slick stone. It hummed, full of the feeling of _solidity, strength, age_. The surface of it was full of the skittering souls of small wildlife. Insects, smaller reptiles. They danced their daily dance of _sunning, hunting, feeding, sleeping_. The rock was solid, the fauna not particularly dangerous so long as she stayed away from anything potentially venomous.

Ahsoka wandered towards the middle, then looked up at the great, heavy arches overhead, dripping with vines. She closed her eyes and reached out again with the Force. There was nothing unusual when she deliberately stretched for a reading of the place. So she tilted her head back, cleared her mind, and let her thoughts drift.

Current worries and problems cluttered her thoughts. She brushed them away, let them float along. Idle concerns swirled upward, eddying through her mind. She wondered where the others were. She let the thought drift onward. Yavin. Yavin. Something stirred in the Force about Yavin, and she could not pinpoint it. She knew the place had history, but this place was unoccupied today. Was it an echo of the past she was picking up? Some memory imprinted onto the stone?

She had never been much for seeing through time. Potential futures always swelled and dipped, at one moment, one future is likely, then one little change could shift the entire flow of the timestream. It was like pulling threads from a cloth. The more you tried to pull out one string, the more you ended up with. She didn't have the patience to weave it all back together and read its' pattern.

Images fluttered though her conscious like iridescent insect wings. She opened her eyes, lowered her chin. There was an illusion of air there, faint and pale. The pavilion cleaned of residue. A woman in white stood there, palms outward, hair braided intricately. Ahsoka resisted the urge to recognize it, fearing it would vanish. She forced the tide of understanding back.

Figures swept past her, form without solidity. One dark haired, one light haired, human. A tall shaggy figure, probably Wookie. The woman on the pavilion smiled, looked down. There was a resounding stomp, a sound she knew, the militaristic thump of many men's feet shifting to attention.

And then it was gone.

She breathed in, let thoughts clutter their way forward in her mind. Recognition came. She had seen the woman in white before. Leia. She saw Leia. How this place and the girl were connected, she did not know. It was possible she was only seeing a variant of the future. One possibility. Still, it brought gooseflesh to her arms. This place must be included on the list for later survey. Even if it was a remote chance, there was a marker here. She tried to pull up the faint images again, to scour the vision for clues, but they fluttered around like a dream. The harder she tried to grasp them, the more quickly they slipped through her fingers.

Ahsoka prepared to try a meditative practice, to help focus her recall, but a light tapping behind her interrupted the process. Rex was hovering under the archway, knuckles poised to rap against the stone. She could try again later. She mustered a smile for him.

"It's solid. The floor. Once it's cleaned up it should work, though the ceiling needs some repair," she glanced upward towards one of the cracks letting in sunlight.

"Put it on the list then?"

She nodded and Rex stepped up beside her. She ran a hand over her face, rubbed her forehead. It was turning into a long day. It'd be good to go back to the ship and put her feet up for awhile. She sighed. No, not until she sorted through that fleeting image of Leia. Did she have some connection to the girl, then? This was the second time. Not a bad thing, but she wasn't sure what it meant, if it meant anything at all. It probably didn't. She had held Leia, who was very strong in the Force. There was likely some feeble connection made between the two of them. Anakin's daughter and his pseudo-sister and apprentice. Familial bonds were not only of blood. She wondered if she would ever see the boy, Luke.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Are you alright? You should rest."

She gave a single, short laugh. "I'm just tired. I could use some sleep is all." She smiled up at him, then grew hesitant. Rex had a peculiar look on his face. He was vibrating feelings of _concern_, but also _apprehension_, _hope, determination_ and _desire_. It was a heady mixture. She cut herself off from it immediately, closing herself away. It was rude, at best, to peer into someone's feelings deliberately. But it was hard not to pick up on emotions when a person was practically radiating with them.

More disturbing was the last emotion, something that seemed to keep growing steadier as time passed. Always before, her being a Jedi and his being a soldier kept things on solid ground. Their roles were a barrier they could not pass. Those guidelines gave them footing. Now the Jedi were gone, their rules with them, and Rex was no longer in the army. It made things uneasy, and it had been slowly growing more so for the last several months. Rex seemed to have come to some sort of decision, and was going about his careful way of approaching it.

His feelings were projecting themselves at her. It was hard to ignore them. She supposed this was as good a place as any for a confession; it was beautiful, in its own way. Even romantic, in a sense, green and bright and light-filled.

There was a feeling of gathering, of bringing together all those emotions, screwing them to a sticking place of _courage_. She felt a flutter of panic. She wanted to move away, and did not want to move away. She wanted to go look out one of the cracks in the stone, to catch the view, to calm down. She wanted to just lean forward, relax against him, and just _let go_ of the fear. She didn't want to be like Anakin. She didn't want to fall. She didn't want to turn to the dark. She didn't want to be afraid.

Rex was groping for words. He got as far as putting his other hand on her shoulder and turning her to face him.

And then the pounding sound reached their ears. Rex flinched. The tips of Ahsoka's lekku curled, and she wasn't sure if it was from relief or disappointment. It grew louder, the sound of feet thundering on the stairs, and the sounds of two clones laughing and taunting each other. Rex pulled back, a quick stab of _frustration_ shooting through the Force as he glared at the doorway.

Echo skidded forward, half slamming into the arch, Fives immediately on his tail, trying to shove past. Echo got an arm out in front of him and leapt forward, skidding into the room first.

"Cheater!" Fives declared.

"Did not!" Echo shot back, grinning. The two of them stopped, laughing, to see Rex and Ahsoka standing in the middle of the room. Rex was aggravated, Ahsoka was fidgeting. Echo looked embarrassed. Fives looked confused for a moment, then seemed to realize they'd interrupted something with a rather juvenile display. He colored.

"We saw you heading up the stairs earlier," Echo began, straightening himself out. "We got a little…enthusiastic. Sorry." He held off on what they were sorry for, unsure of exactly what they had burst in on.

Rex ran a hand over his bare head, and a cloud of _resignation_ settled around him. Ahsoka shoved the worries aside, to turn over in her head later. When she smiled at them, it was genuine. She was glad they could just simply play around. "It's alright. We were just going to take a look outside. We're up pretty high here." She folded her arms. If she were wearing the wide sleeved Jedi robes, it would have made her look ageless, wiser and calmer than her years. She let her nerves fret themselves out into the Force, and composed herself to talk to Rex later. This had to be settled, and she had to face what was going on.

Echo and Fives slowly walked into the room, skirting the two of them. They picked one of the larger gaps in the wall to peer through, and seemed to come to a silent agreement to look away from Rex and Ahsoka. They were already there, and nothing could be done about that without a deliberate retreat. They could, however, give the other two what little privacy they could by keeping their attention focused away.

Rex found his own corner to look out. Ahsoka occupied herself with observing one of the large insects perched on a flower.

She wished the awkwardness would pass.

* * *

_(Hey, Jude, don't be afraid_

_You were made to go out and get her_

_The minute you let her under your skin_

_Then you begin to make it better.)_

_There was the boom-thrum of cannon fire. _

_White helmets with dark t-slit visors crowded around, running, shouting, then disappearing in an eruption of red light. Bodies and sky wheeled overhead, smoke clogged the air. Images fragmented, burst. _

_He stumbled through smoke. Dead men lay on the ground. Figures swept past, some in white going forward, some shapeless and dark moving towards him. He fired blindly. Round, slit white droid opticals gleamed through the miasma. More pairs, everywhere and nowhere, circling him. Closer, smaller, everything compressed, tighter, claustrophobic. Air circulated like sludge, thick in his lungs, unfiltered, damp. _

_Then another burst of red, and everything was black. _

Rex was choking. Air came in, rasping, but clear. There was also light. It crept into his vision slowly, small and dull, emitted from the little glowing greenish disc that marked the doorway when all the lights were out. It cast a funny peppermint aura over the room.

Then there was a snore, and a mutter. He turned his head, just able to see the outlines of Echo and Fives, each on their bunks across the room. Fives rolled onto his back, and an arm flopped off the bed and hung in the air.

Rex pressed a palm against his forehead. Memories of red blaster fire loomed in his mind, the sound of screaming streaming through crackling audio channels. He tried to shove it off, to calm the tremors in his hands. A nightmare. It wasn't real, not anymore. Not for him, at least. He adjusted the blanket so that it lay flat. He'd strangled it into a knot.

Smoke and dirt and blood in his mouth. Rot. The taste of death, memorized down the years. He grimaced, then kicked off the blanket and sat up. Some water, just to distract himself for a few minutes and try for a better dream. He glanced at Echo and Fives, both sound asleep. Ahsoka would be on watch. He ran his hands over his face, unsure if he wanted to see her right now or not. On one hand, sitting with her invariably lightened his mood. On the other, he was still feeling vaguely embarrassed for the aborted attempt to talk about relationships with her that afternoon. It felt silly even thinking about it. What did he know, anyway? Maybe he should just imitate some hero from a holovid and carry her off. It always looked easy that way. He chuckled at himself for a moment. She'd scream once and flatten him with the Force, probably. Then demand to know when he'd lost his damnfool mind.

The door opened for him, and he wandered down the hall to the galley. The lights were low, and he hesitated. This made the second time today he'd come across her doing her Jedi thing.

She was standing beside the table, poised to look out the narrow window onto the planet outside. A mug of tea steamed lightly in her hands. Her eyes were closed, white brows puckered slightly in concentration, lips drawn just a little thin. The tips of her lekku coiled upward, then relaxed in synch with her breathing. The white candle was sitting on the table in its usual place, half melted, flickering, casting both warmth and shadow across half her face. The other half was lit by the cool glow of sunlight reflected off the planet below them, pressing through the narrow slice of transparasteel window. It was moments such as this when she seemed more Jedi than anything else, something otherworldly, old as stars and dust and just as comprehensible.

She was worrying again. And praying, it often seemed. She bought candles when they stopped for supplies, and he'd found her many times since they started this journey, sitting before it, concentrating, meditating, or sometimes dozing. She never could sit still for too long.

He could splash his face with some water in the refresher. He turned to go, but Ahsoka chose that moment to open her eyes and shudder slightly. The transition took only a moment; the ageless Jedi was gone, and only Ahsoka, far more familiar, remained. She saw him. "Rex?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

She looked at him blankly for a moment, then seemed to focus a little more. She shook her head. "No, no, you didn't. Are you alright? You look a little off."

He shrugged. He'd had nightmares before, he would again. "Just getting something to drink." He shuffled into the galley, aiming for the sink. If he was already there, he might as well.

"There's still some tea if you want any. It's a tisane, so it won't keep you awake," she offered, sipping at her own mug, warm vapor rising and curling from its surface.

He poured himself a mug of his own, tasted it, and made a face. It wasn't as bitter as caf could be, but the flavor was different and he wasn't sure he liked it. Ahsoka gave a light laugh at his expression. "No?"

He gave the tea a skeptical look. "I like caf better."

She said, gently, "It'll help you sleep."

He sipped at it again, warily, but continued to drink. It certainly replaced the taste of blood. She knew why he was awake at this hour. Again, it wasn't the first time. He wondered if the others had ever sat with her in the same way, and she'd encouraged them to drink tea and tried to make them laugh. The reasonable part of him hoped so. The rest of him felt an odd curl of jealousy that he quickly quashed as unfair. She was leaning against the wall now, drinking, watching the planet rotating slowly in its daily cycle. He stepped up. There was a storm brewing on the southern hemisphere. He could almost imagine the grey clouds flashing with lightning.

"Someone will have to do a more thorough survey later," Ahsoka said with a sigh, then a slurp as she drained the last of the liquid, then set the mug down on the table with a slight clatter of ceramic on metal. He gave her a querying look. She bit her lip, shrugged, and waved a hand. "Just a feeling."

"From a Jedi, that means something."

She chuckled. "Glad you're feeling better."

If he were a hero in a holodrama, he'd probably have something witty to say as a comeback, something that should be lame, but wouldn't be due to smooth delivery. Something that would charm her, make it all simple. Something like, _You make things better_. Instead, he drank down the bitter tea and made another face at it. Ahsoka laughed at him a little.

_Spit it out, soldier, you're just making it harder on yourself_.

Rex fumbled with the mug for a moment, then set it down next to Ahsoka's. He turned back abruptly, with a vague plan of charging in, and keep charging until he'd managed to say what he wanted to. "Ahsoka," he started, but trailed off when he saw a look of apprehension begin to form on her face. Her eyes were going wide, her lekku seemed to be draining of some color. She'd brought her arms up across her chest almost protectively, closed off.

It always happened like this. They'd get so close, and then something seemed to _break_ in her a little, and she'd close down. _Not today. No. No retreat today_. _Not for me, not for you. _

Nothing he could say would sound right. So he pulled himself together, bent down, and kissed her. And kept kissing her, until there was another _break_, and her hands weren't pushing against him anymore, they were curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he'd figured out putting his hands on her back was better than putting his hands on her shoulders, because he could press her closer, and that awful ache that kept forming up in his chest and arms became a good ache, full of warmth. There was no table, no candle, no tea, no window, no people in the next room, no ship, no planet outside. Just a kind of fumbling, pressing, grasping. Then gasping.

Ahsoka was breathing hard. They both were. She buried her face into his shirt. Something had _broken_, but not in a bad way. He wrapped his arms around her, tightened his grip. He looked down, tracing the pattern of light and dark that ran down the lekku of her back, the dark tips just reaching past her waist.

He felt vaguely shaky, the way he did after the rush of adrenaline that followed battle. At first he thought Ahsoka was experiencing the same thing; then realized her hands had become fists, and they were, however lightly, striking him while she shook. He pushed her back, a bad feeling starting to work its way through him. She hung her head, looking down, but her hands relaxed slightly and she did not pull away.

"I'm sorry, Rex," she said, then leaned forward into him, pressing her forehead back against his chest, refusing to look up. He froze, and she continued, words coming out in a rapid stream. "I'm sorry. I'm just scared. I don't want to fall. I want this. Force, but I want this. I'm just scared and I don't want to turn to the dark side. I know I'm being stupid about it, and I'm sorry." He felt her shudder, and he tried to take all of that in.

She wasn't pulling away. More than anything, that let him know what to do. Slowly, in case he misunderstood, he shifted closer, tightened his grip. Her hands flattened against him, then slowly slipped around him. They lingered like that, and slowly, a sense of peace began to grow.

What happened with General Skywalker had hurt her. He watched the candle flicker on the table. Her hero had fallen to the dark over misplaced allegiance, pain, and obsessive, overprotective love. The loss of the Jedi was a hole no number of other friends could fill. The Jedi were her life, where she belonged. He understood this; it was similar to the loss he'd experienced on desertion. He had his own fears of this too. He was aging, far more quickly than he should. Even if she did accept him, he would be gone in half the time a normal man would. Perhaps it was selfish of him to pursue her anyway.

But it was her choice as much as his. So he tried.

"I'm no Jedi," he said carefully, choosing his words, "but it seems to me, you've got to want to go to the dark. It's a choice." She pulled back, tilted her head up to look at him. "And you don't want to. So don't."

Ahsoka kept looking at him. It was somewhat unsettling, her blue eyes reflecting some of the planetlight coming through the window. She lifted a hand, and pressed it against his face. Her fingers lightly traced the arches of his brows. The hard planes of his cheekbones and jawline. The downward slope of his nose, then trailed down over his lips and chin.

"I love you," she said.

Before he could reply, she slipped her hand around the back of his head.

Then she pulled him down to kiss her again.

* * *

Echo was eating a muja fruit, and trying not to dribble juice down his chin.

He leaned back in his chair, and propped his feet up on the console, trying to avoid kicking anything important on the ship's computer. He glanced out the window to watch yet another potential base planet drifting by, dominating the view, and wondered what number this one was. They'd go down tomorrow and explore. He picked up his holozine and took another bite of the fruit.

Then the door opened. Fives peered inward, looked around, then got a rather evil grin on his face.

"What?" Echo asked.

Fives placed his hands on the top of the doorframe and leaned against it, looking entirely too casual. "I got up to use the 'fresher."

"This is the bridge. 'Fresher's down the hall. You missed."

"Shut up. Rex isn't in our room."

So that's what this was about. Echo gave Fives a skeptical look and chewed on his fruit. "So?"

"_So_, he's not in the fresher, or the galley, and since nobody's been shooting at us, he's not in the medbay or in here."

Echo took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "Your point?"

"My _point_, is that unless he's having a really late night workout in the cargo bay, there's only one other room he could be in." Fives looked triumphant.

"So?" Echo said again, polishing off the muja.

"So he's got to be in Ahsoka's room!"

"Fives, when did you get to be such a gossip?"

"I'm not gossiping!"

Echo rolled his eyes. "You're gossiping. And slow."

Fives shot him an annoyed scowl.

Echo scanned over his holozine. How anyone could believe some of the poodoo the Empire called news he had no idea. Propaganda, all of it, and utterly shameless. "I've got the last shift this week." He flipped a page. "Three nights now."

Fives blinked, took that in, then scowled. "You didn't tell me!"

"I don't have a big mouth," Echo shot back, grinning, then added, "Since Yavin."

Fives brought his hands down, folded his arms, then leaned against the doorframe. "It's going to get weird. Things will change."

Echo paused in his reading and said, somewhat sadly, "I know."

* * *

It is so weird writing a kissing scene from a guy's pov. I hope that worked okay. XD

I also just posted a one shot story called _The Way of Tea_. When I was writing this chapter, I had Ahsoka drinking tea as part of her meditation, and just worked on the assumption it's something she picked up from Obi-Wan somewhere down the years. _The Way of Tea_ is an attempt to explain it, though it definitely can stand alone as a story (and is therefore not actually in this fic). Technically speaking though, it exists in this continuity, if you're interested. ;)

~Queen


	12. If I'm Laden at All

_If I'm Laden at All_

_The road is long  
With many a winding turn  
That leads us to who knows where  
Who knows where…._

_'He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother' – The Hollies_

* * *

Echo leaned against the ledge of the computer console, a brow arched wryly and a funny smile playing about his face.

It wasn't that Rex was late. Not really, anyway. Rex was never late for his shift on the bridge. It's just that usually he was five minutes early, and it was now a minute past his start time. If it was either Ahsoka or Fives, he's assume they were getting some caf before wandering in for their turn at watch, finishing a conversation, or maybe just taking a quick run to the refresher before settling in. But not Rex, who liked to be an example to the men serving under him – or in this case, the men he was working with. This was the third time Rex was not early, or at least not precisely on time.

Echo glanced idly at the chrono on his wrist. Not quite three minutes yet – the door slid open, and Rex appeared in the archway.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. Rex looked blank. Echo looked amused.

"What?" Rex said, after a moment, when Echo didn't leave.

Echo shrugged, straightened himself, stepped forward and said, "You and Ahsoka, huh?"

Rex blinked, then a certain flush bloomed across his face.

Echo grinned, clapped Rex on the shoulder once, then headed for the galley, managing not to laugh until the door closed behind him.

* * *

Rubbing his eyes, Echo leaned back in the chair far enough to tilt it onto its back legs.

It was good to be planetside. Fresh food, fresh air, solid ground under his feet. Little chance of anyone shooting at him. Safe, peaceful planets were the best.

Still, the holonet terminal beckoned before him, glowingly; he'd been staring at it for hours, trying to collate various pieces of data. Dates of disappearance against the date of a skirmish in the Outer Rim between an armed freighter and an Imperial scout ship. That against the dates of sale of various ships that met the freighter's description. Documents of transported goods between various Outer and Mid-Rim planets by a group that might fit the description of the man, the woman, and the boy wanted by the Empire.

The boy was on Ventress' list. The parents were apparently working as smugglers now, having been former employees of a small freight company working off Corellia. It was amazing they'd lasted so long, under the radar - if it really was the right family, and they really had made it out of the skirmish with the scout alive.

If they had, they wouldn't have much time to ditch the freighter and their cargo, and either try to switch ships and run, or just go to ground. He pressed his fingers into his eyes again and felt them tear up from the light of the screen. It was a puzzle. He enjoyed this aspect of the work more than the others, and usually volunteered for it. The other three found it tedious. It could be, at times, he supposed, but finding bits of information that _matched up_ and gave them a clue, even a direction to point their search in, gave him an enormous sense of satisfaction.

Ventress' list had begun to run cold several months ago now. They'd gotten several kids and families out from that lead. It was bizarre, taking information from the former Separatist Commander, but none of the information had been bad or led them into a trap.

A soft noise alerted him. Very faint, a vague scuffle against the floorboards. He lifted his arms, dropped the chair onto all four legs, and twisted to the left, a hand coming down quickly to grab at the figure lunging at him.

Roo let out a high pitched squeal that turned into a giggle as Echo rumpled her ear flaps, pulled into pigtails high on her head and fastened with blue bows. It was one of the perks of spending time on Alderaan, seeing the kids. Roo-Roo Page, the Gungan girl they'd extracted from Naboo, was seven years old now, curious about everything, and had a habit of knowing more than she should. Echo wasn't sure if it was some skill of the Force, or if she was just nosy and good at overhearing things.

She bounced up closer, peered into the terminal's monitor. "You be researching?" she asked, turning her head to look up at him briefly, then back to the holonet. "Slicing?"

"Trying to find out if a family got away from the Empire."

Roo put her hands on the edge of the table, looked at the screen for awhile. "I'ma thinking they did."

"Oh?"

She nodded, distractedly, and Echo began to lean towards it being a Force skill. The expression on her face was a miniature version of Ahsoka's when she was trying to sense things beyond normal ken, different only due to differences in the shape of her face. Roo drummed her fingers on the tabletop once, then leaned back, seeming to snap back into reality.

"Isa didn't surprise you when Isa came in, did I?" she asked, plaintively. "Master Ahsoka says wesa have to practice stealth."

It was so normal to her, Echo realized. Plucking knowledge out of the air that would take him hours to track. He still had to confirm it. Though at least he knew he could put off checking salvage manifests until later. If she was right, they'd be in one piece, not many. She was more worried about whatever lesson Ahsoka had tasked her with, as important as it was. Being what they were, they needed to know how to hide.

"Yeah, well, I've got amazing powers of super hearing," Echo told her, leaning down conspiratorially. "You should try sneaking up on Fives. He's supposed to be helping Rex fix the speeder."

Roo's eyes went wide, then she looked at the doorway. A sneaky look crossed her face. "Really?"

"Really."

Roo grinned. "Isa'm glad yousa're staying!" she exclaimed, then ran out the door.

He watched her go. It was a Jedi thing, he decided. It had to be.

He hadn't told anyone yet he wanted to remain on Alderaan.

He could still work from here, send information on to Rex and Ahsoka. He could make use of Alderaan's network, Alderaan's archives, libraries, databases. It was a matter of time, now, before Fives finally finished getting antsy and headed out on his own to explore. Rex and Ahsoka finally getting themselves sorted was only a catalyst for a feeling that had been building for some time.

They were free. Free to pursue their own wishes. Echo wanted quiet. Somewhere he could work and study and learn things. He thought of Roo and the kids. He could even pass on some of what he learned. Maybe it wasn't the same kind of knowledge Ahsoka could give them, but there was more to learning than the Force.

He'd seen a lot of the galaxy already, though it was often between bursts of battle. A little quiet time was deeply appealing. He could teach. He would teach them how to think for themselves.

Maybe he'd go out again someday. He'd always be around to help if there was a particularly difficult mission coming up. But he wanted that quiet. Some of that peace. Just for awhile, much in the way Fives was beginning to make comments about places he'd like to go, things he'd like to do, things he'd like to see. Things not in the plan Rex and Ahsoka followed so diligently.

He was developing his own plans.

Maybe it was time to strike out on his own.

* * *

Fives stretched, feeling his back crack as he turned sharply from side to side. He rolled his head around, loosening the muscles in his neck, then stood. If no one had made dinner yet, he'd see if he could heat something up.

He cast a glance at the empty bunk above his. The quarters the three clones had shared was just his now. It still felt strange, empty. He wanted to be annoyed with Echo, but couldn't bring himself to be.

He understood why he'd left. They were free agents now. That was part of being free to make your own choices, it seemed. They didn't always match up with others' expectations.

Fives yawned and headed down the hallway, freezing as he reached the entrance to the galley, then flushing red and trying not to stutter and interrupt.

Rex was sitting at the table, a plate of food forgotten in front of him, because Ahsoka was standing behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Fortunately, the back of Ahsoka's head obscured anything else from view, since it was on an even height with Rex's. One of his hands was resting on one of her montrals.

He skittered away, fled back to his room, trying to scrub the image of his older brother kissing his girlfriend out of his brain. He was happy for them and all, but it was a bit weird seeing someone who looked just like you kissing someone who was practically your sister. Clearly, Rex did not share that sibling-like image of the Jedi. Fives tried, then failed, not to say, "Ew." He was going to have to start thinking of Ahsoka as _sister-in-law_ instead of just _sister_. It was too creepy otherwise.

A few more minutes. He'd give them a few more minutes, then hope they had been preoccupied enough to not hear him.

He leaned against the back of the door. Sighed.

He thought of green eyes and strawberry colored hair, and wondered how well Ghorman was dealing with Imperial occupation.

Maybe it was time to leave home and strike out on his own.

* * *

_(But I'm strong  
Strong enough to carry him  
He ain't heavy, he's my brother)_

The two ships docked together, a soft shudder running through the hull of the _Drake_ as Rex and Ahsoka stood at the hatch. The pressure seals worked against each other, then, with a sucking sound, finished attaching. The doors hissed open, the clinical white of the Imperial ship standing in sharp contrast to the softer, grey-brown hues of their home's interior.

A figure stood on the Imperial side of the hatch, one arm on the control pad. On the floor not far behind, another trooper, just as anonymous, lay sprawled, dark oval eyes seeming to stare up at the ceiling. The man before them reached up, and with a quiet _snick_, his helmet came off. The clone had a long scar running down his face.

Rex stepped forward, Ahsoka just behind him. She hovered slightly. He looked down at her, met her eyes, nodded once. She quickly headed down the hallway, sparing only a quick glance for the man on the ground, leaving Rex to deal with the rest.

He was holding his helmet in his hands, looking into the face of it as though it were an alien thing, something monstrous and bizarre. His face seemed hollowed out, not from lack of food, but from worry, from exhaustion. Deep lines had carved themselves into the grooves of his face. He seemed older than he should, even with the rapid aging they were all subject to.

"We've all got to draw the line somewhere," Cody said tiredly. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, ran a hand through his short hair.

Rex reached out, pried the helmet carefully out of his old friend's fingers. "You don't have to fight anymore," he told him.

There was a shuffle from behind. Ahsoka emerged, awkwardly, into the hallway. A large, muscular man was attempting not to lean against her, but he limped whenever he stepped forward, lurching. There were bruises over his face, and an arm hung limply at his side. One brown eye peered out beadily from where it was swollen shut. Two others, one a battered looking woman in charred clothes, the other a little boy in her arms, moved haltingly behind them. They froze when they saw Cody, in his dirty white armor, still standing.

The woman's arms tightened around the child. The man stiffened, and Ahsoka paused, saying gently, "It's alright. He won't hurt you. He's helping us. You're safe now. We're getting you out of here. You're safe. Your family is safe. It's okay."

The man shuddered, head hanging. He winced as tears slid down his face, and his wife stepped up beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. They walked forward together, the woman stepping over the unconscious trooper quickly. The boy wrapped his arms around her neck and hung on tightly as they limped their way past Cody and Rex, Ahsoka guiding them into the hold of the _Drake_. The boy's wide dark eyes never left Cody's slumped figure.

"Come on," Rex said, putting a hand on Cody's shoulder to steer him forward. "You're a free agent now, Commander."

Cody looked back down the sterile corridor.

"No more," he said distantly. "No more, no more, no more."

* * *

Ahsoka pressed her lips lightly onto Rex's shoulder. He was still awake, the feeling of _worry_ rippling out serenely around him, like a stone tossed into a smooth lake - calm, but disturbed.

"They'll be alright," she said gently. "And Cody is out, now."

Rex shifted restlessly. "It's getting harder and harder to find people. Old brothers keep dying. Force-sensitives keep getting hunted down too fast. We can't keep up."

She lowered her head, pressed her forehead against his shoulder. It felt reassuring, his solidity, and he emanated a thin curl of _reassurance_ from the contact with her as well. One of his hands came up to lace fingers with one of hers. It wasn't as much as she'd always hoped; twelve younglings at home on Alderaan, of various strengths in the Force, and now one more family to stow away somewhere safe. Three more people _safe_. She was amazed they had lasted as long as they had, on their own, hiding their son. They were incredible people.

And Cody, who had done more and lasted longer in a situation that would have broken most men, could finally rest.

But Rex was right. The Empire kept growing. Their victories were so small. It was hard not to feel overwhelmed, helpless. She squeezed his fingers. All they could hope for was that feeling of ripples spreading. The hope that one person could affect the lives of many.

She would not give in to despair.

"It _will_ end someday, Rex. Nothing lasts forever." She traced the outline of his face in the darkness. "Not even the Empire. We'll keep fighting. It might not be much, but we'll keep fighting."

"I just worry it's not enough."

"I know. So do I."

He pulled the blanket tighter around them.

* * *

I imagine that the further along in time we get, the harder it is to find people – the Empire locks down on things, its bureaucracy settling into place, the military becoming settled – the less likely anyone is to find Jedi/Force-sensitives who have escaped, either because they're dead or so deeply hidden. And more and more clones would either be dying or replaced, eventually with non-clone troopers filtering in, making it more difficult to extract anyone there, either. The times are still changing.

As for Roo, Gungans speak with a Gungan dialect. Dialects, however, are learned, so I'm assuming that Roo's speech patterns would be closer to standard Basic, since she's predominantly around standard-accent/dialect speakers instead of all Gungans. So her Gungan accent is lighter than ordinary.

And yes, they've settled on Alderaan.

Always,

~Queen


	13. The Faces of People Going By

_The Faces of People Going By_

_The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky  
Are also on the faces of people going by  
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do  
They're really saying I love you.  
_

'_What a Wonderful World' – Louis Armstrong_

_

* * *

_

They were not going far from Kamino.

Hevy was annoyed. He wanted to blast droids.

Cutup was bored. He wanted to do something interesting.

Fives was resigned. It was a post, like any other, if quieter.

Echo was watchful of his brothers. They were sitting, strapped into their seats in the back of the shuttle. He'd met each of them before deployment, but this was the first time he'd spent more than a few minutes with any of them. It was a chance to observe, to get to know who he'd be spending so much time with, possibly even through the end of the war.

Hevy was stretched out as much as he could be, legs out in front of him, slouched in his seat, head tilted back just enough that his helmet was resting against the back of his headrest. An occasional snort of irritation came through his audio channel into Echo's helmet. Cutup was in a similar position, though seemed to find the ceiling interesting judging by the tilt of his helmet, and he would periodically roll his head and look at the others, as though to see if anything had changed. Then he'd go back to looking at the ceiling, half dozing. Fives sat up straight, officially at ease, though not really. As the others displayed by their relaxed postures, the relatively short trip to Kamino was a boring one. Fives not stretching out showed a somewhat less easy mindset than he would be hoping for others to believe.

Echo had pushed his feet out a bit, but was leaning forward and reading over the manual regarding regulations at Rishi Station. He had to admit, it was a quiet trip, and the manual gave him something to occupy himself with. If these guys were at all like his brothers – his close brothers, now scattering across the galaxy – they'd need someone with a solid understanding of procedure if anything unexpected ever came up. He wouldn't be the one to let them down.

This was their first trip through hyperspace, as none of them were pilots. Real hyperspace. He wished he could sit up in the bridge, look out one of the windows. Simulated hyperspace couldn't be as interesting as real hyperspace, he figured. Rainbow colors from across the spectrum, streaked with white stars, flying past as they shot through the sky. Instead there was only the dull grey of the walls, the nausea green of the seats, and the dirty yellow of the interior lighting system. He contented himself with the reg manual and listing to the sound of engines – real engines – humming throughout the ship.

"Do you think there's going to be _anything_ to do at this post?" Hevy muttered, folding his arms. Echo's brow creased, worrying. It was going to be a long, hard haul if that was the attitude Hevy was taking.

Cutup answered him, tucking his arms behind his helmet and leaning back. "Oh yeah. Rishi's a resort. We can play boloball, watch holonet, go on hikes. It'll be great."

Echo frowned. "Hiking would be a bad idea. Rishi's got some large natural predators." The other three looked at him, their helmets cocked to the side and black visors masking their expressions. "What? Regs say there are these large–"

"That was a joke. Get your head out of the manual." Cutup shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Is that why they call you Echo?"

Echo scowled, then hung his head, embarrassed. He glared down at the manual's screen, not answering. His brothers – his real brothers – hadn't made it sound like an insult, even in jest. He missed them. Binder, Watch, Trip, Spin, Tales. He wondered if they were alright. Watch was on the way to the front as a scout. Binder hadn't gotten his Commander rank, but he was starting out as a lieutenant, and was pretty happy. Trip, Spin, Tales and himself were all set into typical trooper grunt work.

He wondered if he'd ever feel as comfortable with this crew as with them. Cutup seemed to think he was funny. Hevy, so far, was snarky. Fives was quiet. It was different from the boys he'd grown up with. Too different, it felt. But they had to be a unit. These were his closest brothers now.

The shuttle shuddered, and a soft hissing whisper passed through the air, the sound of the ship hitting atmo. The turbulence continued for a few moments, and then evened out as the shuttle slowed. Cutup and Hevy rearranged themselves into more attentive positions, and Echo shut off his datapad as they descended.

A slight jarring sensation came as they touched down. Another hiss as the doors opened and the gangplank lowered.

Fresh air percolated inside, safety restraints eased upward, and the four clones stood, gathering their few things. The pilot stepped into the back, announcing, "We're here. Disembark and get ready to meet your new sergeant. Good luck."

One by one, they marched out, in perfect precision, onto the deck, out into the cool evening air. Stars glittered on the horizon to the east, and streams of blush colored light trailed outward in the west. The deck officer stood still, at attention, macrobinoculars raised, sitting on the top of his head, and another clone in armor was pacing towards them, strides purposeful. Their new sergeant.

They lined up in formation - Echo, Fives, Hevy, Cutup – and marched out, then formed up at attention in front of their shuttle.

The sergeant paused, hands tucked behind his back, the black slit of his visor catching red light from the sunset as he took a moment to size them up. Then he said, "At ease. Buckets off."

It was a little informal, Echo thought, but did as he was told. Each of the four of them stood, helmets tucked neatly under an arm, small duffels of gear strapped across their backs.

The sergeant removed his helmet as well, revealing slightly graying hair around his temples, and a few more lines around his eyes than any of them had. He took a step forward, facing Cutup. "Name?"

"Trooper CT-26-"

"_Name?_" Their sergeant repeated.

Cutup shifted a little. "Cutup, sir."

The sergeant turned, made his way down the row. "Name?"

"Hevy, sir."

"Fives, sir."

"Echo, sir."

He stopped, turned, looked at the four of them again. "I'm O'Niner, but you'll call me Sergeant, or Sarge." He stepped back a bit. "I realize we may not be the most exciting post in the galaxy here," his gaze swept across them, and there were tiny fidgets from both Cutup and Hevy, "but our work is vital to the continuation of the war effort. I expect the four of you to continue the good work the men here have already done." He straightened.

"Welcome to Rishi Station, boys."

* * *

_(I hear babies crying, I watch them grow  
They'll learn much more than I'll never know  
And I think to myself what a wonderful world  
Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.)_

_

* * *

_

Echo stood on the verandah, arms folded, smiling.

There was a slight breeze; it was scented with rain, and if he looked to the distance, a dark gray smudge was smeared across the horizon. Now though, white clouds rolled overhead, sliding swiftly across the blue sky as the wind rustled green trees in anticipation of the oncoming storm.

Most of the younglings were playing nearby, and he was keeping an idle watch on them. The youngest, too small to join in the game out of fear of being trampled, was sitting next to Waxer on the grass, watching, her skinny arms wrapped around equally skinny legs. The game seemed to involve a lot of running around in a lot of circles, tossing a ball and screaming. Echo couldn't tell if it was a real game, or if they were just goofing around. The smile on his face broadened. Kids, playing. They did it all the time. It was fascinating.

It still felt strange. People were people, it seemed, but brothers all felt connected by their shared faces, shared genes, shared lives. Here too were connections. A variety of people, not just brothers, but bound together nonetheless. They had a dozen children now, most very young. Here, he'd go outside to watch younglings and not for Sep ships the way he would on Rishi. He spent time reading holozines, journals, novels for fun. He'd listen to Roo try to get her mother to give her extra helpings at dinner, or Thoosa and Temese begging him to read them _one more story_ before bedtime, because stories are just _so interesting_ and bed is just _so boring_.

_This is what it's like not to be at war. This is what it's like to be a civilian. This is what peace feels like_.

He felt lazy, at times. Like he wasn't doing enough. Sitting at a terminal and crunching numbers and teasing out the trails of ghosts didn't have the same, vibrantly active feel as being out in space with the 501st, or being with Rex, Ahsoka and Fives. It unsettled him at times, the feeling of _not enough_.

He would go back, someday. Go wandering, like Fives, maybe. Or when one or two of the kids got older, he'd take them out for training, real world training. He put his hands on the rail enclosing the portico, leaned on it. Someday. Right now, though, Rex and Ahsoka needed some time without him and Fives around. They also needed a break of their own. A real one, not what the four of them usually did on a rare day off, stuffing themselves full of interesting local foods on different planets, or sleeping late on deserted white beaches. They'd all worked hard, for years.

He'd earned a little leave. So had they all. This place was an orphanage, by official accounts, supported by state funding and non-profit organizations. A modest, out of the way house not far from mountains, near to a town, but far enough out that they would know if anyone was on their way up the trail to their front door. It would be unwise for even sympathetic Alderaanian locals to see children levitating rocks, leaping far higher than any normal person should, and training with half sized wooden practice swords.

Rithron let out a whoop and went charging through the melee, ball under one arm, others trying to tackle him down. The ball flew through the air, and Maera intercepted it, running around with it over her head, using her height to keep it away from the other team.

They didn't have much beside each other anymore. He was a big brother now, trying to make up for some of the family losses the children had all experienced. He was a teacher now, trying to explain _how_ and _why_ to children not having their brains packed full of information through artificial, flash training.

It was worthwhile, and unlike any other experience he'd ever had.

The shout of, "No nap! No nap!" punctuated the air. It was midday, and Waxer was marching Neaera, the youngest of their group, up the steps to where Echo stood. She sat on his hip, tiny fists punching the air repeatedly as she chanted, "No nap! No nap!" She was giggling, but insistent, occasionally smacking Waxer on the top of the head with a flat palm.

Waxer was rolling his eyes and saying with repeated patience, "Yes, nap. Yes, nap."

"No nap!" Then she squealed as Waxer shifted her, flipping her upside down so that the tips of her pair of cream colored lekku brushed the floor. A fresh peal of laughter rang out. "No nap!" she gasped, wriggling.

Waxer shot a wry smile over at Echo. "She's going to be knackered by dinnertime if she doesn't sleep."

Echo chortled as Waxer flipped Neaera back upright, and she shrieked laughter, finally noticing him. "Echo-_nerra_, help! Don't let him take me!"

"Go get some sleep," he responded. She pouted, then turned back to Waxer and started in again.

"No nap! No nap!"

Waxer headed inside, chanting, "Yes, nap," back at her, until he was too far into the house for Echo to hear anymore.

Echo chuckled, then turned back to the louder shouting of the kids playing. Waxer had settled in well. They'd been able to channel a few brothers away from the Empire. Some were found stranded; wandering deserters like Waxer. Others were identified and recommended to them through heavily encrypted channels by Cody. It was only a tiny network, but the handful of brothers they'd helped scatter through the galaxy knew they were not alone. The orphanage was home.

The screaming grew louder, and he snapped back to attention, watching the kids. He frowned. They were milling around Rithron, who had the ball again. Maera was shouting something about no cheating using the Force, fists on her hips, and he was shouting back at her. The smaller ones began jostling each other, and one of them began to cry.

Echo straightened, but before he could move, Roo's mother Nura stomped out through the back door, looking annoyed, her earflaps tied up high behind her head and twitching agitatedly. Her apron was covered in flour. She shot him an annoyed look. "What, yousa can't be tellin' theysa fightin? Meesa could hear them all da way inside!" She made a disgusted sound, and loped quickly towards the group, Echo attempting to keep up.

When Rithron saw the angry lady Gungan bearing down on them, he blanched, began to stammer, and quickly gave the ball to Maera. Echo paused and let Nura hash it out. In the years since the establishment of the orphanage, Nura had taken charge, and become a kind of surrogate mother and general boss of the place. The group was broken up with a sharp, "Yousa can't play nice, yousa not play. Rithron, yousa gettin' yousa self into da kitchen and doin' dishes!" Her voice softened. "Ctesius, yousa not be needin' to be cryin'." She picked him up and he wrapped his arms around her neck as she bounced him lightly, patting him on the back. Rithron glumly headed back inside. Doing dishes for fifteen people, by hand, no Force powers or cleaning droid, was considered one of the more miserable punishments.

"Mama, can the rest of us keep playing?" Roo asked, taking a staunch position next to the older Maera.

Nura nodded, and the rest melted their way, slowly, back onto the grass. The new game was subdued, and Echo expected they wouldn't last much longer, even without the swelling rainclouds, gradually approaching. Nura approached him, Ctesius still clinging on, face buried into her shoulder. "Yousa need to be payin' more attention to how they be behavin'. Itsa not all fun and games," she chided, more gently.

"Sorry," Echo apologized, and Nura's face softened further.

"Yousa gonna watch them more careful, now?"

He grinned. "Yes, ma'am." Her eyestalks moved in what would approximate a look of amusement on a more humanoid face, the long bill of her mouth curving up into a smile.

She nodded, then turned to the boy in her arms. "Maybe yousa should be takin a nap with Neaera for a little longer."

Ctesius curled up smaller and rubbed at his eyes. Only Neaera was younger, and not by much. She carried him back into the house, and Echo turned around to watch the kids again.

Ctesius' absence didn't change things, but with Rithron out of the game, it was easy for Maera to dominate, even if she was apparently playing by whatever rules they'd established. Roo wasn't much smaller, and they were both on the same team. The two girls were easily keeping the ball away from the others. Echo resisted the urge to run out and join in. He was much bigger than any of them. It would be silly for an adult to play.

A couple heads turned his way. He was embarrassed. These were Force-sensitive younglings, and though Ahsoka wasn't around to train them regularly, they still picked up far more than he speculated ordinary children would. Thoosa and Temese had their heads together again, and then Temese began leaping up and down and waving. "Come play! You can make up for Rithron and Ctesius! Come on! Help us!"

Half the kids immediately began shouting eagerly; the other half looked disappointed for a moment at the potential of losing the game, but none objected. Then Roo began to wave him over too.

He'd never played a ball game before. Not really.

Thoosa latched onto his arm, and began dragging him forward. "Come on, come on! You're being slow!"

Then the ball was in the air, and everyone was running, and Echo realized he didn't feel so silly.

He was happy.

The ball sailed towards him, and he caught it.

* * *

Oh wow, notes for this chapter. Okay. Roo-Roo's name is canon, and I got it out of the Wookiepedia. Her mother's name is not given, so I just made one up. The names of the other children are all pulled from Greek mythology, mostly either place names or minor gods. Not all the kids there are named in the chapter, as I didn't want it to become dominated by a jumble of OC names any more than necessary. I'm pegging Roo at about seven at this point. The 'older' kids mentioned are about nine. Neaera I'm putting at about four. I'm also assuming the gang has rescued more than just this group – these are just the orphans.

Waxer's interaction with the Twi'lek girl Numa was adorable beyond words, and though Numa herself wouldn't make sense being included, I couldn't help but want to echo the first season Ryloth episode a little. 'Nerra', as referenced in the episode, means 'brother', and Numa kept calling Waxer and Boil that.

So many chapters in this story are dark, and it was kind of nice to switch to a much more positive song like _What a Wonderful World_. So, just a little lighthearted stuff before the fic begins to wind down.

As always,

~Queen


	14. And Now It Can Be Told

_And Now It Can Be Told_

_In the tube where I was born  
I could have sworn  
There was so much to see  
There was so little to be  
But I was free  
I'm a quarter century old,  
And half a century high._

_"Half a Century High" - Phil Ochs_

_

* * *

_

Mos Eisley was full of scum and villainy.

It was kind of fun, in its way. Fives huddled deeper into the heavy folds of his large cloak, hoping no one would pay too much attention to him. He didn't expect to stand out. People here were a riot of color, species of every sector of the galaxy running through one Hutt-dominated port, bringing in their accents, tattoos, fashions, weapons, manners, ships; all dusted with a unifying layer of fine yellow sand. The daily sounds of people in motion dominated the place, of voices shouting and speeders buzzing by, of the indecipherable chatter of arguing Jawas, the sounds of cantina jazz and the occasional snort of a pack animal rearing its head.

Fives trundled forward, taking his own, winding time. The meeting was for later in the day; he wanted to reach the rendezvous point well ahead of time, to check it out, to be sure he wasn't being watched, tailed, or set up. Operating alone, he was endlessly cautious these days, bumping from one contact to another, checking on various contact points in the network, talking to escaped brothers and parents of youngling Force-sensitives they'd hidden in scattered places and bolt holes.

It had been Clink who set up this meeting. The trooper was one of the first they'd gotten out. Fives was feeling vaguely cranky about the entire thing. Clink had been oddly secretive, but almost jubilant, insisting it would be best if Fives met this particular contact himself.

"_You'll know what I mean after you talk to him_," had been the only explanation. "_Don't look so worried! I figured you've got more contact with the Captain and Commander. You can get word out to more people than me, and faster. Trust me. Meet the guy._"

Fives was a little tired of the cloak and dagger routine, but he was enjoying Tatooine. In the army, everything was kept clean, uniform, neat. Mos Eisley was a sentient mess, and though at one point in his life, he may have found that intimidating, he'd grown accustomed to it, almost welcoming. He could be any normal man. Not a clone, not a soldier, not a deserter. Few passed him a second glance. It was a kind of privacy in a crowd, an assumption that he was like everyone else. He grew up being accustomed to acceptance among his brothers because they all appeared the same. In these new places, he was given acceptance among strangers because they all appeared different - united not in their presumed sameness, but in their actual uniqueness.

It was a fragile thing, though. Seeing multiples of brothers together could tip someone off.

Strawberry hair. Green eyes. He still hadn't gathered the courage to try visiting Ghorman.

He bit his lip, sighed, and quickened his step a little, shuffling to the side to avoid elbowing a rather large Weequay. He wondered if it would be a good idea to try finding General Kenobi or not, while he was on-world. Perhaps he'd try contacting Ahsoka to ask her opinion. He hoped the old man was doing okay, but Kenobi was ranked so high above him it was hard to imagine simply showing up on the man's doorstep just to say hi, even if it was on Ahsoka's behalf. Assuming it was possible to find him at all.

Fives had gained a new appreciation for the choice of disappearing onto Tatooine. If you kept your head down low enough, an ordinary looking human man could melt into thin air if he wanted.

Kenobi was supposed to have gone to the desert. He'd went out to the edge of the city last night himself, and stood on the rise of a dune at dusk.

It was the image of Tatooine he'd seen as a child. Twin suns setting into a deepening sky, poised above an unending horizon.

* * *

(_In the tube where I was raised  
I was amazed  
Of the pictures I would lean  
That went flashing on the screen_)

* * *

_**Naboo. Chommell Sector. Mid-rim.**_

_Primary Species: Human. Gungan. _

_Secondary Species: Amaran. Glurrg. _

_Capitals: Theed (human). Otoh Gunga (Gungan). _

Green plains, golden fields. Wide blue oceans capped with white waves. Heavy swamplands, wet brown-green, elegant human made structures with curving arches of gray stone. Elaborate clothing on humans in wide, paved streets. Gungan cities surrounded by flowing mossy water, lights dancing out windows like glowbugs.

_Beautiful planet. _

_**Coruscant. Coruscant Sector. Core. **_

_Primary Species: Human. _

_Secondary Species: Multiple. _

_Capitals: Galactic City. See also: Republic City. Capital City. Coruscant City._

Endless spires touched by pollution enhanced red sunsets. Wide white dome of the Senatorial Building. Spires into the sky around a massive Temple. Streams of speeders instead of streams of water, flowing around duracrete buildings and transparasteel windows. Species in trendy clothes, walking briskly between buildings. Species scraping for food, driven by poverty. Politicians shouting lofty rhetoric in a circular chamber of black hovercraft.

_Beating heart of the galaxy. _

_**Ryloth. Gaulus Sector. Outer Rim. **_

_Primary Species: Twi'lek. _

_Secondary Species: Humans. Devaronians. Rodians. Jawas. _

_Capitals: Kala'uun. Lessu_.

Light-dark, fixed into place with one half always bright and the other always dim. Rocky, harsh, distant peaks skirted by gray mist, dancing in windy gales. Crushing heat. Twilight realms of habitation. Deep caverns of welcoming people, sharing hospitality in brutal environments.

_A world of light and shadow. _

The information rushed on. Naboo, Coruscant, Ryloth, Alderaan, Mandalore, Dac, Kashyyyk, Tatooine, Dantooine, Sullust, Bothawui, Shilli, Rodia, Geonosis, Trandosha. Planet after planet, image after image, data burst after data burst, racing across the inner screens of his helmet, streaming by in impacted flashes, so fast he could barely register one slide of information before the next pounded into his brain, over and over again, settling into his subconscious with a rapidity akin to an automated laser cannon.

His eyes groped around for a moment when it was over, expecting more brightness to explode into sight, but none came, and it took CT-27-5555 several moments to realize that the flash training stint was over. He groaned a little, pulled off the helmet, and let the back of his head hit the hard padding on the back of the chair he was sitting on. He rubbed his eyes with a hand, hoping the information was sinking in. Who knew when it'd be useful? And at least it was fast. He'd heard a rumor that non-clone instruction in this sort of thing could take years.

He was glad to learn it fast, but it didn't entirely make up for the uncomfortable, dull headache that would always take up residence after one of these sessions. Still. He looked at the helmet, the dull gray-white of it. It was always a little damp inside, from whatever brother had been sweating through the session before him. He grunted and put it onto the console.

_Naboo_. Images immediately bubbled up, pictures of Theed in summer, of lakes sparkling and damp swamplands.

Well, his brain was still working. That was always a plus. He grinned, and started peeling himself out of the chair. He tried pulling up images from the other direction. Colorful reefs and sapphire waters. Dac, also called Mon Calamari. Twin suns over a sand sea at sunset. Tatooine.

"Hey, Fives!" someone called, and he turned in time to see CT-27-5556 step up next to him from his own console. "Now that _that's_ over, let's get some _food_," he said cheerfully, until his voice cracked halfway through 'food' and '56 blanched briefly in embarrassment, absently rubbing his throat. "Food," he repeated, recovering quickly. "Maybe they'll have the blue mystery meat today."

CT-27-5555 grimaced. "You _like_ the blue mystery meat?"

"Of course! Tastes like nerf. Of course, so does the green mystery meat, the orange mystery meat, the purple mystery meat…."

"Alright, I get it, you're hungry," CT-27-5555 laughed, and the two of them angled themselves along with the rest of their squad, forming up to head down to the mess. It'd been a long morning of flash training, and several brothers were stretching, necks popping or cracking as they tried to loosen up stiffened muscles. "You think we'll ever see any of these places?" he asked as they all headed down the hall.

CT-27-5556 shrugged. "If we do, we'll probably be busy trying not to get shot."

"What, you want to travel?" CT-27-5558 cut in, leaning forward and around CT-27-5555 to join the conversation. "Want to see the galaxy? Well, you're in for a treat. Grand Army of the Republic Mystery Tours is open for business! Just watch out for the flying blaster bolts, because insurance doesn't cover injury or wrongful death."

"Funny," said CT-27-5555, trying not to look embarrassed. Of course the only way to see those places was if they were fighting there. He knew that. Still. There were so many places. So much _life _out there. The galaxy was beautiful.

"Anytime!" chuckled CT-27-5558.

They reached the mess hall. They were having the red mystery meat today.

* * *

He took a perch in the back of the room, at a high table overlooking the bar.

There was a back way out through the kitchens, which were in a direct line with his seat. Five strides to the kitchen door, perhaps three or four more to get through it. Two grimy windows were also at strategic points on either side of the room. Either could be blown out with a quick blaster shot, and being on the ground floor meant he wouldn't be likely to break his neck in a fall, should he end up making a dramatic exit that way.

It was the disadvantage in working alone. Times like this, he wished Echo, Rex or Ahsoka were there to back him up.

It was dim inside, most of the light coming from dull lights above the bar and through the dusty windows. There were only a few patrons scattered around. There was a drunk snoozing under one of the windows, a couple of men sitting in one of the secluded corners, tossing dice and looking for all the world like they were killing time. Some music sputtered through an audio system, trying to cheer up the sleepy, daytime hours of the cantina.

A waitress ambled over, her blonde hair tied up in fuzzy dreads into a ponytail, eyes made bright from a heavy rim of black. She slid a relatively clean looking glass to him, full of ale. "Anything else?" she asked, lifting plucked brows in query.

"No, thanks."

She shrugged, and he managed to hear her mutter something negative about working the noontime crowd in a cantina. He allowed a half smile into his glass. She was right – he couldn't afford much of a tip, and bars didn't do much business this early. At least all he wanted was a drink to nurse until Clink's contact arrived and wouldn't keep her too busy. She leaned against the back of the bar and began picking at her nails.

He sipped quietly, pushing the legs of his chair back until he was balanced on the rear two pegs, eyes flicking across the room. Minutes stretched into an hour.

The waitress came back, standing across from him with her hands on her hips.

"You _sure_ you don't want another one?" the waitress asked for the third time, looking vaguely irritated.

"Completely sure."

She rolled her eyes, turned, left. The man huddled near the window seemed to wake up, lift his head, and look around, blinking blearily. Fives sipped at the dregs of the drink, mostly melted ice now. He frowned, letting the rim of the mug hide the gesture. The man was good, he'd give him that. He tipped the chair back down onto all fours, set the glass back down, and called out, "Hey, miss? I changed my mind. Bring me another one. Actually, two."

She looked over her shoulder, gave him a weird look, then rolled her eyes and pulled out two fresh glasses.

The man sat down across from him and said, with a grin, "Buying a brother a drink? How kind of you."

There were changes there. But cosmetic and temporary. Brown eyes daubed with a drop of dye to turn them dull green, a bit of artful stubble and a bit more dye to lighten hair into a murky auburn, wisps escaping a fitted cap. A bulky coat made him appear more rotund than muscular. A shuffling gait made him seem to lumber awkwardly.

But the shape of the eyes was the same. The broadness across the nose and the angle of cheekbones and chin. The same high forehead, though mostly hidden by the cap. Little things, certain tics and tendencies, a wariness that couldn't be easily dropped, gave him away. It was harder to hide one brother from another.

The waitress set the two mugs down onto table, one in front of Fives, the other in front of the other man.

Fives picked his up, took a pull, set it back down. The man across from him smiled.

"Null ARC-7," he said, by way of identification. "Mereel."

"CT-27-5555. Fives." came the reply, then a pause, then, more quietly, "501st."

Mereel lifted a brow, then his drink, in acknowledgment.

* * *

_(Such an easy way to win  
Talking to my twin  
I was extended by the wall that held me in)_

_

* * *

_

Ahsoka yawned, then looked at the chrono while sipping a cup of caf. She wrinkled her nose at the bitter flavor, but inhaled deeply to breathe in the scent. It was early in the morning onboard, and she was prepping them to jump to hyperspace.

The comm went off, with Fives' transponder identification. Ahsoka flipped it on. "Hey Fives. Everything alright?"

A small, handspan high blue figure shimmered into life, wearing an old coat and a wide smile. "Everything's fine. Better than, actually. Rex around?"

Curious, Ahsoka tilted her head and said with a chuckle, "Sure. Just a second. Let me pry him off his breakfast." She set her caf down, stood, leaned outside the door and called down the hallway. "Rex? Fives is on the line and being all mysterious."

"You're going to get a bit more 'mysterious'," the little hologram chuckled, and Ahsoka arched an eyebrow and put her hands on her hips as Rex appeared in the doorway, looking a little bleary eyed from sleep.

"Why are we being mysterious this early in the morning?" he asked, running his hands over his face a couple times, vigorously, to wake himself up.

"Because I've got some news. Nothing for over channels. Can you two make it back to base within the week?"

Rex and Ahsoka exchanged a look of puzzlement, then a shrug. Ahsoka said, "I think we can manage. We were planning on going back middle of next week anyway for a food run and visit. Just finishing up a few special deliveries out here."

Fives looked between the two of them. "Plan to clear your schedules for a couple weeks." When Rex and Ahsoka began to protest, he cut them off. "Unless you've got an emergency, clear a couple weeks and then expect to be busy. This is big."

The protests died and became serious. "How big and how bad?" Rex asked.

Fives smiled. "Very big, and not bad at all. But it takes a bit of time. Get to base next week and I'll explain."

The pair hesitated, seeming to lean together, as though to brace themselves. It was a rare thing to get some kind of good news these days, and it made them wary.

"We'll be there," Rex told him.

* * *

_(I gave all the mind I had  
And whenever I was sad  
I had my friends  
And now it can be told  
I'm a quarter of a century old  
But I'm half a century high_)

* * *

Fives shut off the tiny holoprojector and smiled.

* * *

When I first heard that the Skirata clan in the _Republic Commando_ series had found a way to reverse the clones' rapid aging, I wanted to use it. When I came across this song, I knew I _had_ to find a way to use it, because my goodness does it seem to be about the clones. I've been reluctant to cross over too heavily into Karen Traviss's work though, for a variety of reasons, (conflicts with TCW canon, Traviss's issues with Jedi, etc., etc.) and so kept the actual contact to a minimum as to not create more canon-conflicts than necessary.

If you're wondering, Clink is an OC, who had a very brief stint in chapter seven. He was the guard keeping watch on Slick. I figured I could reuse him.

One more chapter to go.

~Queen


	15. So Come All You Warriors

_So Come All You Warriors_

_Men who were fighting for all of our lives  
Are now fighting for children, for homes and for wives,  
Fighting for the memory of all who fell before,  
But the soldiers of peace just can't kill any more.  
_

"_Soldiers of Peace" - __Graham Nash, Craig Doerge & Joe Vitale_

_

* * *

_

It was night when they assembled.

It was for practical reasons, really. The day was full of screaming and playing children, of Nura stuffing people full of food, of Rex giving everyone briefings on their more recent activities, and of Ahsoka trying to give the younglings new Force lessons to work on.

Now the children slept, and the adults gathered outside on the verandah. Dim lights filtered through windows, giving a soft warmth to the space around the table, the nighttime darkness held at bay. To look up and look out would reveal a navy sky with white stars, standing out brightly against a moonless heaven.

There was a soft clatter as Nura set a platter of sticky-sweet sesame cakes in the center of the long table. She pushed them directly in front of Cody, who'd she'd decided needed feeding. Cody, in turn, was proving himself not completely adverse to some mothering. Ahsoka smiled as she watched Nura sit and Cody pick up one of the sweet cakes to eat.

They did not always assemble like this when she and Rex returned home. They usually didn't need to, and any gatherings after the children went to sleep were usually relaxed affairs involving random chatter, Corellian ale, pastries and cards.

There was a kind of excited aura of _apprehension_ hovering around the table, thoroughly mixed with _curiosity_. Fives had continued being mysterious; the battered bantha-leather carry-case he had with him only further piqued the sense of interest from the rest of them. He would only say that it was no bad thing, and not to worry, but that did little to relieve the sense of concern about the situation, of what he might have found.

Ahsoka leaned to the side, pressing her cheek on Rex's shoulder for a moment as he broke one of the cakes in two and offered her half. She smiled, accepted it, and began to munch as Fives cleared his throat, looking a little nervous now that it was time to explain himself. His hands ran over the leather case, fingers drumming on the surface for a moment.

"I know you're all wondering about it. I'm trying to think of the best place to start."

"The beginning is usually good, Fives," Echo suggested wryly.

Fives nodded. "The beginning, right." He tapped his hands on the top of the case again. "Clink contacted me awhile ago and sent me some coordinates for a rendezvous with an informant. The informant was one of us." He made a vague gesture indicating Rex, Echo, Cody, Waxer. They all waited expectantly, with varied expressions on their faces. "It was one of the Null ARC's."

Ahsoka straightened up as a strange ripple of _amusement_, _annoyance_, _respect_ and what she could only describe as a feeling of droll_ unsurprise_ rolled around the table. Cody snorted, chuckling, and leaned forward to put his arms on the tabletop. "Why does it not surprise me at least one of those delinquents got themselves out?"

"Meesa not be understanding. What be bein' a Null ARC?" Nura was looking between the clones, head tilted curiously.

Waxer explained, "They were prototypes of us, I guess. Never met one myself. If half the rumors I heard were true, they were all trouble."

There was a smattering of dark laughter from Rex and Cody. Ahsoka gave Nura a shrug, not quite getting the joke either. Then she looked at Rex, who replied with a grin, "Nulls weren't ones to cross. They were a couple years older than me, but I distinctly recall the time when they rigged the broadcast system on Tipoca to scream some crazy _Mando_ cuss every time one of the Kaminoans tried to open a comm channel to give orders. Well, everyone assumed it was them, anyway. The Kaminoans never could trace the slicer. That's about as close as any of us ordinary troopers got to that group."

Cody was snickering. "I remember that. It sounded a lot like Sergeant Vau, if memory serves."

"Took almost a week to weed out whatever they'd done to it," Rex finished. "Learned all _kinds_ of interesting vocabulary you don't get from flash training."

"So what have the Nulls done now, then?" Echo asked. "Rigged the Emperor's cruise ship to scream at him in _Mando'a_?"

Fives was fidgeting. "I'm not sure of all the details. I met with Seven, Mereel." He took a deep breath. "They've got some sort of fancy geneticist working for them, or did. They've found a way to switch off the rapid aging gene sequence the Kaminoans worked into our DNA."

There was silence. Ahsoka blinked at Fives a couple times, then looked around the table, at the growing expressions of numb shock, incomprehension and disbelief. The air had grown thick with quiet, a seaside feeling of _withdrawing_ before a wall of water rose up to cause chaos upon striking land.

"What?" Waxer repeated, blankly. "They did what?"

Fives said, carefully, "They found a way to stop the rapid aging of clones."

"That's not possible," said Cody, brows drawing together in consternation. "It's built into the gene structure. It's not a light switch you can flick on and off. Aging is a part of cellular deterioration and everything alive experiences that. "

"The Kaminoans did do something to increase the speed of our maturation, obviously. But it's not natural. If I'm understanding Mereel's explanation right, they worked an artificial sequence in to cause the rapidity of our aging. If you can shut down the artificial sequence, the natural one all humans have takes over." Fives frowned.

Echo said, slowly, "Not so much flicking off a switch as exchanging a light bulb for some sunlight."

There was another pause. Then Ahsoka pressed a hand to her mouth as an onslaught of emotions rushed forward, almost enough to cause a sensation of drowning from their intensity as understanding began to catch up to each of the men. Beneath the table, she felt Rex's broad hand abruptly grasp hers, tightly, though his face remained warily neutral. She squeezed back, feeling the tension running from his hand up through his arm, his breath coming suddenly shorter.

There was only one question to ask, then. Quietly, Ahsoka said, "It works?"

Fives nodded. "The Nulls say it does, and they've had it for over a year now." He made a faint gesture towards himself, took a deep breath, and plunged forward again. "It doesn't cause any real harm either. Some headaches and nausea as your metabolic rate slows and restabilizes."

"Yousa already done it!" Nura exclaimed, a hand going up to her mouth in surprise, long earflaps twitching rapidly behind her as her yellow eyes widened.

Fives nodded, then clicked open the case and turned it around for the rest of them to see the contents. There were a variety of delicate, sealed transparasteel tubes cushioned against soft foam. "All we need is a hypospray. There's enough here for us and some others besides."

Cody began to laugh. He buried his face in his hands, and laughed, something like, "Those bastards" occasionally coming through coherently, only to be interrupted by another burst of laughter. Within a moment, Echo began to chuckle. Waxer leaned backward, breathing deeply, hands resting tightly on the wooden tabletop. Nura placed a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly, and beginning, hesitantly, to give a hopeful smile. Ahsoka turned to Rex, whose head was lowered, eyes closed. She slipped an arm around his waist, and felt him sag a little against her, then begin to laugh quietly.

Fives, sitting at the head of the table, looked benignant, a wide smile on his face.

"We have to open up contact with these people," Ahsoka said, not sure if she should be laughing along with most of the rest of the table, or crying from some sort of relief. Or both, the way Cody seemed to be. She was nearly trembling from her own feelings and the flooding tsunami of emotions of the men around her were experiencing. Her arm around Rex tightened and her thoughts raced. "We'll need to get word to the other clones we've gotten out, find the ones that went underground. These Null ARCs, they might even have more information on other Jedi as well if they've been helping clones."

She was beginning to get excited. There were a huge number of potential outcomes from this. There could be massive repercussions if the existence of a 'decelerating' cure for rapid aging existed. Most of the Imperial military was still made of clone soldiers, even if many of them were not Kaminoan in origin. If they knew of the existence of a way of extending their lives into a normal range, how would it affect the Empire? It could cause massive disruptions in the Empire's internal functions. Mass dissent and potentially desertions if the men in the army were not given access. The cure for rapid aging was not only a salvation for men whose lives were cut short, but potentially a dangerous weapon against the entire Imperial power structure, if they could handle this right. It could be extremely difficult, if the Empire knew where they were working from. Dangerous. But the potential good was too great. She wondered why these Nulls hadn't already begun to spread the word – no, they had. Through Clink and then Fives and then to the rest of them. It was small scale. They didn't want to be discovered. It was a practical reason, a good reason. Still, the thought of saving so many and striking such a blow without firing a shot was deeply alluring if they could make it possible. "Another group standing against the Empire is good news. We need to meet them, establish some connections to work together. We'll have to pass on word if-" her words trailed off as she noticed Fives' expression. "What? What's wrong?"

"This isn't going to be easy. For now, it's probably best if they didn't see you, Ahsoka." At her puzzled look, he continued, with some discomfort, "The Nulls are very, _very_ Mando." He looked at her pointedly.

Bewildered for a moment, Ahsoka stared at him. It took Cody muttering something dark and incomprehensible for her to suddenly understand, and she blurted, astonished, "You're telling me they wouldn't work with us because of some stupid centuries old vendetta against _Jedi_?" She felt her face and lekku flush darkly. Rex quickly put a hand on her shoulder, restraining, as her voice peaked and she began to rise from her seat. Fives hands went up helplessly, placating. She spluttered in anger as Rex pulled her backward, against him. "It doesn't have anything to do with Jedi! Palpatine is _exterminating entire populations_ and they're holding _grudges_? That is the stupidest – most _narrow-minded_…!"

Rex quickly interrupted the tirade before it went any further. "We'll need to keep up contact of some kind, though, if that's a limited supply you have. Maybe it would be better if we kept things quiet for awhile until we figure out how best to approach them. Just brothers helping out other brothers, until we know _exactly_," he looked at Ahsoka, who was calming enough to slowly seethe, "how open minded – or narrow minded – about Jedi they are."

A few gazes were cast towards the house, where the Force-sensitive younglings lay sleeping inside.

"Meesa be thinkin it be best to keep contact," Nura said, but her expression grew grim. "For the sake of other boys like yousa all be. But nobody gonna be knowing where my Roo and the little ones be hiding. Theysa all be needing to stay safe."

"I think we can all agree on that," Ahsoka ground out after a moment. She grimaced. "Stupid grudges or not, they're probably about as welcoming to visitors as we are, and for good reason. I can't fault them for that. We're already doing the same."

"Who wants to take bets they're hiding somewhere on Mandalore, if they're so into being Mandalorians?" Echo rolled his eyes. "It's not that big or populated a planet. Someone knowing they're out there though, with enough reason to flush them out, probably wouldn't have too hard a time of it. They're taking a big risk spreading word. One leak and they're done."

Ahsoka snorted and folded her arms sourly, grateful in spite of the insult to her kind. "Well, _we_ won't be the weak link, regardless of what they might think of Jedi. We're all for helping clones, so we're on the same side in that regard, whether they want to acknowledge that or not."

"Fives, I'm assuming you've got a way of contacting Mereel again?" Rex asked. At Fives' nod, he sighed. "Then once we've had a turn at this, we'll be busy spreading this cure for awhile. Echo, can you start compiling a list of last known locations of the men we've gotten out?"

"Not a problem."

"Nura, do we have any hypos?"

The Gungan woman shook her head. "Weesa not be having any here. Meesa can drive down to town tomorrow and be picking one up."

"Actually," Fives interrupted before Rex could start issuing any more orders, "it might be a good idea to do this one or two at a time. We've only got so many refreshers and," he winced a little, absently rubbing his belly, "we should be sure we don't have more nauseous men than we do 'freshers."

Rex paused, looked vaguely ill at the thought of the process coming up, but agreed. "I'll go first."

Cody cut in, looking sharply between Rex and Ahsoka. "That's not necessary. I can go first."

Fives rolled his eyes. "Stop talking like it's dangerous. I've already gone through it, we don't need to test it on anyone." He flushed a little red. "We just need to keep enough 'freshers open during the metabolic and digestion adaptations. The worst is over in a couple days. You'll all have taken it within a week."

"It would make the most sense if Rex went first anyway," Waxer said. "The sooner he's over it, the sooner we can start delivering the serum to others." He eyed the transparasteel tubes and the syrupy liquid they contained.

Before anyone else could raise further objections, Rex decided, "Then it's settled. Tomorrow Nura will pick up a couple hyposprays for us, and we'll take turns."

"Meesa will be sure to pick up some nuna noodle soup for sick stomachs," Nura chuckled.

The quiet began to return. There were quick, encouraging smiles exchanged, hopeful looks, but nervous too.

Ahsoka sighed, leaned back against Rex, then quickly kissed him on the cheek as she stood, giving Nura a nod. The Gungan woman joined her, and though the five men sitting at the table gave them questioning looks at the departure, none moved to stop them.

The two women let the brothers be for a time.

* * *

Ahsoka walked out onto the verandah, feeling a breeze press past her face.

It was a bright day; there were few clouds, and wind rushed through the grass and trees. A day for feeling alive, and looking forward. She took a stand beside Rex, who was leaning against the rail, and placed a hand on his arm, peering around to look at him. She frowned a little, brows creasing in worry.

"Rex, come inside and rest. You're starting to look Mirialan, and not in a good way."

He managed to chuckle once, then winced as his stomach made an uncomfortable gurgling noise. He seemed to turn another shade greener, and Ahsoka reached up, closing her eyes and focusing, willing the Force to wrap around him like a comfortable blanket, smoothing down frayed nerves and queasy organs. The discomforting sensation of _churning_ he radiated began to slow into a lackadaisical _whirl_. She felt him breathe in deeply, relax. Rex was, at least, slightly more stable than he'd been last night. He was barely in bed at all. It worried her.

It was days like this she missed Barriss. Not only her friendship, but her skills. She had been so much better at healing, in all its aspects. Ahsoka had improved with fixing wounds sustained in battle, but she would rather have relied on her friend's knowledge for internal matters such as this.

"Thank you."

"You should rest," she urged him.

He shook his head and turned back towards the yard. "I've been inside too much. The air helps."

She gave him a skeptical look, but did not further press the matter. She stood beside him, their arms just touching. It was spring, cool but warming, and the vegetable garden off to the side of the house was starting to show sprouts. It supplemented all of their diets, and gave the children good practice sensing currents of living Force moving through the plants. Now, though, the younglings were arrayed across the backyard. The two eldest, Maera and Rithron, were fencing, wooden staves clacking off each other as they went through rounds of preset steps, advancing and then retreating in unison. Ahsoka smiled a little as she noticed them seeming to favor a reverse grip. She'd have to be sure they were capable of a forward grip, though it pleased her a little to see they were trying to follow her favored style. The pair occasionally would throw something unexpected into the mix, trying to catch the other off guard, either to impress or outdo their partner with attempts at fancy spinning strikes. She hoped they wouldn't end up clouting each other in the head too hard.

The younger ones were lined up in rows, Echo and Waxer marching up and down either side attentively. Each pair was levitating a boloball between them, shooting it back and forth between each other without touching, practicing levitation and control, the balls sometimes flying up into fantastic swoops in attempts at showing off and playing.

"You'll have Padawans in a couple more years," Rex said, eyes on the elder two.

Ahsoka looked up at him, then back at the Twi'lek girl and Zabrak boy. They were both smiling as they worked their way back and forth, five steps one way, then back the other. Their movements were simple and unrefined, but solid and well executed. She wished one of the Masters were here to teach them properly. Her tutoring seemed like so little. She had been starting to learn more advanced forms at their age; she spent time learning to leap mid-air and deflect low-frequency blaster bolts with a training saber, not block boloballs with a carved wooden stick. So much was gone. She worried for their skills, that they would not be enough. Echo and Waxer were both teaching them all hand-to-hand, and eventually blaster work.

She wished she knew better how they would turn out as adults. Their schooling here was abnormal, not Jedi, not clone, and to be honest she wasn't exactly sure what Gungan education looked like, though Nura made sure they studied more mundane topics like science, mathematics and language. Echo was starting to take over instruction for the older children.

Still though. It was, in part, their lack of training that kept them safer here. A dozen full-blown, adult Force signatures in one place, even with Alderaan's highly populated cities and forest masking them, would begin to attract attention. For now, those signatures were murky, vague.

That would change in time. They had to learn, and grow up. She did not want them to be ignorant of who they were. Of _what_ they were. It would get harder on them as they aged. They had to learn, and had to get real experience outside of the cloistered lives they led here. The galaxy was set against them. They had to be able to survive. It was her responsibility to teach them.

The ship had grown quiet since Echo and Fives left.

"Is it alright?" she asked Rex.

He gave her a puzzled look. "Alright?"

"For them to come with us. They need to train, but," she paused, trying to think through what she wanted to say. Bonds between a Master and a Padawan were often familial, not just in the big, extended family way they were now, but often sibling-like, or parental, depending on the width of the gap between the ages and the people involved. Anakin had eventually felt like an older brother as much as teacher. Obi-Wan a much older brother or perhaps a kind of uncle. The thought of Rex and herself taking two younglings in, in such a fashion, felt like a small, almost natural family, two children and their parents. Without the officialty of the Jedi Order, working on their own, that perception felt even stronger. "It would be a lot like having children, Rex," she said eventually, quietly.

Beneath the greenish tinge currently accenting his skin, she noticed a little pinkness begin to color his cheeks as he processed that. They had not spoken of such things before. "Oh," he said after a long moment. There was a lull as they watched Maera pull a trick out, trying a technique she'd picked up from one of Ahsoka's lessons, and vaulted over Rithron's shoulder, body tucking in close as she rotated mid-air, landing gracefully only to find Rithron's wooden sword poised to strike. She pouted a little.

"The boy's getting good," Rex commented, casually. "He'll be hard to keep up with."

Ahsoka's smile bloomed softly, and she resisted the urge to trail her fingers down his cheek. "So is she. I only showed them that yesterday."

"I never thought I'd live long enough to see anything like this," Rex said, gazing towards the ground. "What do you do with so much time?"

Ahsoka reached out with her mind, brushed lightly against his, giving reassurance, and sensing a feeling of _stretching_ and_ length_. A normal lifespan. She tried to imagine what it would feel like if someone told her it was possible to double the length of her life. Many people would perhaps rejoice at such a concept. To cheat death awhile, to live on and on.

What did it feel like, to grow up knowing you'd pass others by, watch yourself grow gray, wrinkled, worn, while others took the slow road to reach those same markers of life? Rex was afraid. Happy at the thought of living what most would call a normal life, but intimidated too. Years and decades more living. Years and decades of more fighting, more running, more training, more Empire.

"You live on," Ahsoka replied. "And someday you die." Rex's head bent, and Ahsoka bit her lip. Then she added, for levity, to make him smile again, "Of course, first we'll retire in a nice galaxy uninfested with megalomaniac dictators. Then we can have our Padawans visit with their Padawans, and complain about younglings these days."

Rex seemed a bit confused by the joke for a moment, then guffawed. "I'll get _old_," he said, in a tone almost awed. "Gray hair. A few of the older clones started getting gray hair, but I've never seen a really old one."

"You'll be a pioneer," Ahsoka laughed, then added, with a more gentle warmth, "We'll grow old at the same time."

He stared at her for a moment, uncertainly at first. Then as the feeling eased and understanding came, he smiled down at her, slowly, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him.

Before them lay the future.

* * *

Just a little reflection here, rounding things out. Though having read the RepCom series, I'm not sure what the age decelerating 'cure' (for lack of a better word) would look like. I'm assuming it's a gene therapy triggered by an injection of some kind. I am by no means a medical or nursing student, so I'm shooting in the dark on this and trying to remember my many-years-ago biology classes. If there's a canon explanation (or any med students/geneticists/mad scientists) out there, please feel free to share info. I'm just going by what seems logical to me, and sadly the series cuts off before explanations are given.

There are really so many places and things that could happen to this group of characters post-series. The more I wrote about them, the more directions I found the characters spinning. Ahsoka becoming a responsible leader, Rex relaxing a bit, Echo getting some confidence and Fives some independence. Their varied stories could go on for ages. I hope I've managed to touch on a least a few of the major possibilities, and you've enjoyed the ride as I have. I'd deeply appreciate it if you could drop a line and let me know if you've enjoyed the story.

An epilogue to go.

Always,

~Queen


	16. Is Not the End

_Is Not the End_

_When you're standing at the crossroads that you cannot comprehend  
Just remember that death is not the end_

_And all that you've held sacred, falls down and does not mend  
Just remember that death is not the end  
Not the end, not the end  
Just remember that death is not the end_

"_Death is Not the End" – Bob Dylan_

_

* * *

_

In the center of the circle, there lay the memorial.

Pictures in frames sat in the center, with day old flowers strewn amid them. There was a necklace, made from cheap glass beads. A half dozen sesame cakes. A lit white candle, burning low on its wick. A boloball. A pair of pink hair ribbons. A holonovel, turned on with the first page facing upward, letters standing darkly against the white of the monitor. A folded letter on a piece of flimsi, the words hidden, known only to their author.

Memories of each member of the circle, of their home that had died.

There were gaps in the ring, places where people once filled, now empty.

There was a young woman with her face in her hands, cream colored lekku trailing over her shoulders, quietly crying. It was the only sound, save for the constant, dull whirr of engines idling.

A man whose face matched many others began the awkward shuffle backward. A woman with grey streaked strawberry hair moved with him, gently steering their strawberry haired, honey eyed daughter away. His brother, too, stepped aside, hand in hand with a dark eyed woman, faces dotted with tears.

One by one, they moved away from the airlock.

A nod of the head; a switch flipped on its own. The door began to close, sealing the items onto the other side.

Then, in the hand of a young Gungan woman, a flame lit. A long, narrow blue blade of light. It stretched outward, the pointed tip aiming forward.

Two more came. Green blades held by a Twi'lek woman and a Zabrak man, standing side by side, much as they always had.

Other lights began to ignite, casting the dim room into an aquamarine glow, the transcendent brilliance of green and blue merging, mingling, humming together. That luminescence filled the faces of children grown, of those allowed to live who would have been sentenced to die. For who they were. For what they were. And they mourned the lost parents, brothers, sisters, friends that they had known.

A Togruta woman of middling age stepped forward, her silver-haired husband beside her.

She ignited her own light. A green blade to match the rest.

The doors sealed with a soft hiss.

And the memories of those lost slipped away to join the newly-dancing asteroids.

* * *

_(Just remember that death is not the end)_

_

* * *

_

Hello all!

I've decided to continue with this storyline a bit further. Preview for the next story is added!

The more I wrote of this, the more ideas I got, and I've got a dozen random plot threads still drifting through my head. If it wasn't clear, the implication is that the original four (Ahsoka, Rex, Echo, Fives) were off planet when Alderaan happened. They are all alluded to in here. Ahsoka and Rex should be easily picked out. Fives is with a 'strawberry haired woman' (Behri) and Echo is the 'brother' with the 'dark eyed woman' (you'll meet her in the sequel). Some of the children they rescued are with them, including Roo-Roo, the Gungan woman mentioned. As for the other characters, I've left that moderately open ended. The fifteen years that happen between the last chapter and this epilogue is a long time. Interpret how you will.

All in all, I hope you enjoyed the tale.

Til then,

~Queen


	17. Sequel Preview

_What Any of it is Worth_

_

* * *

_

_Preview_:

* * *

Ahsoka traced the ruin with her eyes, then closed them, trying not to feel defeated. Even if Ilum was Imperial free, the main source of crystals she knew of was damaged beyond accessibility. At least the front entrance was. They would have to spend more time on Ilum than she liked. It was necessary. "We'll need to do some surveying. Do some deep scans from the _Drake_. Ilum is a big planet, with a strong Force pull. There's got to be more than one cave with crystals."

She didn't think there was desperation in her voice, but perhaps a bit of disappointment snuck through. Rex reached out, took her glove encased hand in his and squeezed a little. The sensation of his hand in hers was muffled by all the heavy layers surrounding their fingers, but the gesture was still appreciated and understood. She smiled a little at him, and he smiled back. Rex was no Force-sensitive, but he was getting entirely too good at reading her moods. She resisted the urge to laugh, which in turn caused her to resist the urge to kiss him fondly. They were both entirely too cold and heavily insulated to enjoy such silliness. Instead, she squeezed back as best she could through their padded hands, then shivered.

"Maybe we should head back," Rex suggested, looking down again at his scanner. "Another long climb. Then some caf. Hot caf."

She squeezed his hand again in agreement. As Rex moved back towards their hiking equipment, kicking up clouds of soft snow, Ahsoka cast one long, last look at the remains of the Crystal Cave of Ilum.

In a few years, she would have Padawans.

* * *

The rest of chapter one from _What Any of it is Worth_ can be found under my profile. Enjoy!

~Queen


End file.
